


Of Potions and Intent

by buggy_writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Black Hermione Granger, But we still love him, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Misuse of Potions, Multi, Mystery solving, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Potions Master Severus Snape, Ron is kind of a dick, Severus Snape Being a Bastard, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex, Voldemort didnt rise a second time, harry just wants to kiss malfoy, ill add more later, minerva being sick of his shit, only one chapter is smut so far
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buggy_writes/pseuds/buggy_writes
Summary: Amalie Prince just wants a normal life. Of course, with Severus Snape as her father, Draco Malfoy as her best friend, the Weasley Twins after her heart, and a forgotten past, how could her life ever be average?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so here's this. find me on tumblr @buggy-blogs

_{15 October 2001}_

Admittedly, had you told Amalie that she would be standing in Diagon Alley in the middle of October with her resume tucked neatly under her arm, in front of a _joke shop_ , she would have given a near-perfect replica of her father's signature sneer and simply gone back to her work. Alas, here she was, all five foot four of her, ready and waiting for one of the famed Weasley Twins to come down and open up. Briefly, she considers the colorful windows and her own outfit- all black, save for the small gold accents in the jewelry adorning her neck, fingers, ears, and nose (a specific piece her father had not been thrilled with). She will clearly need a wardrobe update when she gets the job.

When her father posed this idea, she had given an obnoxious guffaw of a laugh and told him he'd been spending too much time with his head held over a cauldron. He, in return, had flicked a spoonful of mashed potatoes at her. A truly thrilling response, given his overall morose demeanor. She had burst into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles, a simple wave of her wand cleaning the mess.

She loved bringing out the playful side of her father-- it was something she so rarely got to see, especially when she had spent the better part of her years in France, away from her only living relative. Sure, summers were spent in Cokeworth, where she practiced her English and spent hours with her hair braided back, posture straight as she stirred her potions, stocking up for the coming year, helping the hospital wings of both Hogwarts and her beloved Beaubatons, but she missed the days of her childhood when they spent hours in the frigid dungeons of Hogwarts, her lessons spread on the floor whilst he graded essays.

But back to the topic at hand- the joke shop. Her father had sat her down in their comfortable little home and explained that he worried for her. Amalie was nearly a carbon copy of him, which he despised, and yet she was his pride and joy. He admitted that he missed her mother, missed having her light and optimism, and wanted Amalie to get in touch with that side of herself.

The girl's mother had passed when Amalie was just five years of age, leaving her husband and daughter shocked and with a bitter outlook on things. Amalie's father had spent approximately two years being, in all honesty, a terrible man. He had lost interest in his daughter's life and spent more time with cauldrons and bottles of gin than he'd ever care to admit. When his daughter, seven at the time, had stalked up to him and demanded he stop being such a miserable git, he had laughed and done his best to follow her orders. The command had been one that his wife had given many times in their years together and gave him hope that their daughter would be just like the woman he loved so dearly.

Their time together had been, in retrospect, brief. Danica Rooks, a Hufflepuff through and through, had threatened a very confused James Potter, helped Severus Snape to his feet, and towed him away. It wasn't easy- at this point in their lives, Severus had grown to be a gangly mess of limbs, greasy hair, and resentment for the world around him. She had dragged him (by the shoulder of his robes, no less!) to an empty classroom and fussed _at_ him while fussing _over_ him. After that, he found... solace in the woman who crashed into his life and heart. A full ten years of happiness, though not without its challenges, had truthfully not been enough to satiate his selfish heart.

The lights of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes all flick on at the same time and Amalie steels herself, all nostalgic thoughts gone from her mind. She waits exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds before tapping the heel of her right shoe against the cobblestone path and starting for the door. The tinkle of the bell calms something in her, allowing her to take a breath and school her expression. Easily enough, she stalks up to the counter and gently sets her resume down. After opening it, turning it around, and sliding it across, she looks between the two gingers.

"George," she nods to one, then to the other, "Fred." They glance at each other before nodding slightly- Amalie can only imagine how confusing it must be for a complete stranger to correctly identify them- "My name is Amalie Prince. For the past three weeks, you've had a Help Wanted sign, and I'm here to fill the position."

Fred crosses his arms, tilts his head toward his twin, and looks her over. "Are you now? What makes you so sure?"

George is the one to pick up a page of her resume, reading over it and sliding it to his brother. "Think the paper will do the talking, on this one."

She smiles- a feature that was copied and pasted from her father to her- and crosses her arms. The blazer she dons is stretched neatly across her shoulders, pitch-black hair tied tight into a bun at the base on her head. Thankfully, years of this exact hairstyle prevents her from the headaches she was prone to getting as a first-year.

"Blimey..." Fred says as he skims over the small stack of papers.

George looks at her- really looks at her- and asks, "Why are you applying here? You could easily open your own place."

"Because I'm a damn good potions mistress, I can double the effectiveness and triple the sales. I'm 21, I've only just completed my apprenticeship, I'd like to have fun. You, boys, aren't exactly known for your calm, quiet ways and boring trends," she says, allowing herself to relax enough to lean down on the counter.

"Your apprenticeship with," -George nearly scrambles for one of the papers- "Damocles Belby?"

Fred raises a brow again, matching her position on the other side of the counter- though he has to lean down a considerable distance compared to her. "You walk into our shop and declare yourself the best little potioneer, resume laminated, and expect us to hire you on the spot?"

Amalie can't help the wicked smirk on her lips as she sizes Fred Weasley up, then meets his eye.

"That's exactly what I expect, yes."

The twins once again share a look, obviously having a silent discussion. She counts the seconds in her head- 53- until they turn to her and give a grin.

"You're hired." They say at the same time.

She allows a small upturn of the corners of her mouth and pulls her resume closer, pulling a card from it and handing it to Fred, "This is the address where you can reach me. I'm available starting tomorrow. I look forward to working with you, Mister and Mister Weasley."

As Amalie leaves, the twins once again share a look and ask themselves what just happened. By mid-afternoon, the Help Wanted sign is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_{23 October 2001}_

Amalie's first week at the shop has gone smoothly enough if she has to say anything about it.

Although, George had shown her where they brew and she promptly shoved him out of the room, wand easily slipping from her tight sleeve as she got to work organizing and cleaning. Two hours later, she emerged looking only mildly disheveled, having redone the entire room.

"The- it- why didn't we ever organize like this?" George had squawked.

"Because... because... she's just bloody good at what she does, remember?" His twin supplied. She once again ushered them out, not unkindly, of course, citing that she needed to go over their current recipes to see how she could improve upon them.

By the end of the week, the order list for ingredients is trimmed and edited to her liking, and she's managed to convince Fred to let her do the shopping for it. He sends her off with a bag of coins, an apprehensive squint, and an only semi-awkward shoulder pat, expecting it to take the majority of her lunch break.

He is proven wrong when she returns half an hour later, a bag full of the ingredients, and plops the bag of coins back on the counter. Amalie says nothing, goes about her business but gives pause when she hears the door shut behind her. Slowly, she turns, ready to draw her wand if she needs to. Her father always told her to be ready for anything, and given her close relationship with the Malfoy's, she's learned to expect the worst.

"Is there something I can do for you, Fred?" Her mock-serious tone hides that she is truly curious as to why he shut the door.

He stares at Amalie for a good minute, shaking his head slightly. She raises a brow at him and sets the bag of ingredients down, turning to him fully. Carefully, the witch places herself upon her brewing stool and keeps her gaze on the man across the room.

"How exactly is it that you bought a week's worth of supplies without spending more than a few Galleons?"

Ah, so he noticed. She suspected he would, but had hoped he'd let it slide.

"Are you stealing from someone?" Fred tacks on, still staring at her.

Amalie lets out a scoff, swiping a stray piece of hair from her face. "Don't be ridiculous, Fred. I'm no thief. If I were, you'd hardly be the one to sort it out."

Fred clearly takes mild offense to the comment, moving further into the room and dragging a stool closer so he can sit across from his employee. "And what does that mean?"

Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip as she decides exactly how she wants to go about this conversation. "I simply mean, that according to many adults in my life, had I gone to Hogwarts, I'd have had a placement much different than your own."

His response begins in the form of a snort, "Don't have to tell me that, little witch, I know a Slytherin when I see one." Fred is slouched on the stool, and Amalie idly considers that when he's older, he'll have back problems. "But how does your house placement matter in your stealing supplies?"

"I am not stealing from anyone," she clips, huffing out a small breath. "If you must know, I grow most of these things myself. It's only the more controlled things I needed to purchase. The rest I got from home."

Fred watches her for a long minute before taking a deep breath, standing, and putting the stool back. "You, little witch, are a bit of a weird one."

"I've been told as much, thank you." She fixes her skirt once she stands, watching the Weasley smooth a hand over his apron.

It takes a moment for her to realize they're watching each other. She looks away, putting her attention on her ingredients, but stops when a hand catches her wrist. Amalie has known for years that she was somewhat small, having her mother's height and her father's slim build, but next to Fred Weasley, who is nearly a foot taller and twice as broad, she feels- for the first time in a long time- tiny. Even moreso, considering the size of his hand on her wrist.

"Promise you're tellin' the truth?" he asks softly.

"I-" She wants to protest the need for such a promise, tell him that he's silly for even worrying about it to begin with, but it all dies in her throat when she looks at him. "I promise," is what she settles on.

When he's gone, she lets her thoughts drift to the name he's called her twice now. Little Witch. Perhaps she isn't the first to notice just how drastically different they are.

_{16 November 2001}_

Weeks went by without any incidents, and slowly but surely, Amalie was being proved correct. Spending less on ingredients left more room for other expenses, and profits were going up thanks to the potions' potency. One of her favorite tasks was putting the labels on bottles, writing dates, and sealing them, packing them into a little box for shelving later. Always done after hours, of course, so no one bumped into her and ruined her hard work. Her little potions lab had become just that- hers. The twins, unless restocking, generally left her to her own devices.

That, of course, doesn't mean she doesn't interact with them on a daily basis. Once a potion is left to brew, she would charm a timer into her wand and go about helping them make sales. The awful magenta apron she wore was worming its way into her heart, as well as the many, many colors she saw every day. She knew this meant only one thing: her father had been correct.

Damn the man and his insightfulness.

As she prepares to go home, George knocks at the door of her little lab. He enters on her response, holding out a small paper, "Owl for you, Amalie."

"Oh?" She takes it and uncurls the paper, smiling at the familiar scrawl. "Ah, thank you, George."

His hesitancy to leave makes her look up at him, and she does mean up. Blast, why did she have to stop growing so young?

"I'm Fred. Thought you knew us better-"

"No, you aren't. You're George."

George- and it _is_ George, thank you very much- gives an indignant huff. "How do you know?"

Amalie smiles- an actual smile, not the forced and awkward thing she's used to putting on for pleasantries- and laughs softly. Later she'll realize it's the first time she's done so in front of either of the twins. "Because, George, despite all evidence to the contrary, you and Fred are two very different people."

He continues staring at her, crossing his arms. "First day you came in, you got it right, though."

"I did, yes."

"... how?"

Amalie raises a brow and glances behind her, then gestures to the couch. George leads the way, sitting on the far end. She easily folds her legs under herself as she sits on the other side, arm on the back of the couch.

"There was an article on you, back when you first opened the shop. When my father suggested I apply, I dug it up. I banked on the reporter knowing to get it right because they'd be a proper idiot to mess that up, wouldn't they? And there was a picture. You and Fred, in front of the shop. Admittedly, on that first day, and my first full workday, I had to, ah, this is a tad embarrassing...." She finally shifts, looking at the slightly tattered couch. George is watching her, she knows this, but she can still feel the heat rise to her cheeks. "I had to look at your lips. Got different smiles, different resting faces. Mind you, they're similar but different enough. Fred always looks like he's about to be the cat that caught the canary."

"And... what am I?"

Unexpected, and enough to make her smile again. "You?" She stares at him for a moment, then shrugs, "You're... Merlin, don't laugh- you're a bit more comforting than he is. Still look like you'll pull one over on someone, but... ah, maybe it's because I've spent a month with you and him now, I just know you're the one to think first."

George seems to accept the answer and goes on to ask about why she chose potions to apprentice in. They talk for a good half hour until she says that she really must be getting home. They part ways, she Floo's home, and drops her bag on the couch as she goes to the kitchen.

"I expected you home no later than seven, it is well past-"

"Alright, _Professor_ , I got to talking with George," she laughs softly, shaking her head.

"Ah, I always did think him the brighter of the two. You had a good day?"

"I did, yes, I'm quite enjoying working with those two."

Severus Snape, still in the black sweater and slacks he wears under his teaching robes, turns away from the stove and gives a genuine smile. "Good; now, set the table?" He gestures with a wooden spoon.

Amalie snorts and uses her hip to shove the man away from the stove, "You set the table, let me cook. You scorched the sauce last time. For a Potions Master, you make a poor chef."

He gives an acknowledging hum and places a kiss on her head, moving to set the table, "I was sufficient enough to keep you alive all those years, was I not?"

"Hm, keyword: sufficient," she retorts.

Later, as she's clearing the table, she snags his plate and drops a kiss to his head, much like he did her, "I've got an early morning tomorrow-"

"On one of the rare weekends that I'm here?"

"Yes, Dad, on one of the weekends you decide to bless the house with your presence. So, as I was saying, I'll do the washing up and turn in. I love you, goodnight, and if you need me, reconsider."


	3. Chapter 3

_{24 November 2001}_

Times like these were among her favorites. Hair down, sweatpants on, a bowl of popcorn between her and her best friend, and an old Muggle RomCom on.

“Wait, so they spent one summer kissing on the beach, and now she thinks Danny will magically be the love of her life?” Draco scoffs and grabs a handful of popcorn, his own set of comfort clothes (though they’re hardly as casual as Amalie’s) donned.

“I mean, not the love of her life, per se, but… You know, she spent a solid three months with this guy and now that she gets to stay in town, she’s hoping that he’s still that sweet guy who spoiled her and treated her right,” she insists, shuffling on the couch and throwing her legs over Draco’s lap, popcorn bowl resting in her lap now.

Over half of the movie has passed when Amalie sits up, setting the now empty popcorn bowl down and pausing the movie. Draco raises a brow, shifting to face her more and preparing for whatever nonsense he knew she was going to spew.

“You know I’m working with the Weasley Twins?” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

“I do, yes…” He gives an all too familiar squint, waiting for more details before jumping to conclusions.

“Well, I’ve- I’ve spent a good deal of time with them, and…” She fades out, trying to word what she wants to say.

It takes all of thirty seconds for Draco to pick up where she left off, “And now you want either one or both of them to do vile things to you? I reckon Fred, he seems like the sort to pin his witch-”

“If you even think about finishing that sentence, I’m going right to your mother and telling her you’re an uncultured little Flobberworm!” Amalie swats at Draco’s arms, giggling all the while.

“I’m just saying! He’s- well, Merlin, I know he’s a Weasley, but… both of them, they’re fit. Used to be Beaters, so they’re… big, broad-”

“Alright, yes, we get it, you’re very gay, thank you for the lovely reminder.” She rolls her eyes, curling up into Draco’s side. Malfoy breeding be damned, he had learned when they were young that if Amalie wanted a cuddle, she was going to get one. There were select few who she was comfortable enough with to demand physical affection, and he wasn’t going to be the prick who pushed her away. He wasn’t a monster, and by now Amalie knew that he liked a good cuddle, no matter how much he protested.

“But… I don’t know, I’m probably being ridiculous, you know?”

Draco takes a breath and wraps an arm around his all-but-blood sister. “I don’t know, I think you and the Weasley Twins would make cute babies. Hopefully, any spawn would have your hair; the last thing the world needs is more gingers.”

Amalie groans softly, looking at Draco with a glare, “I hate you. Truly, I do, you’re a menace. Will you come to my birthday dinner next weekend?”

_{30 November 2001}_

“And what’s this?” George asks, staring at a pair of envelopes resting on the table in the brewing room of the shop.

“Looks like an invitation, Forge,” Fred remarks, plucking up the envelope with his name on it.

“An invitation indeed, Thing One.” Amalie gives a genuine smile, tapping the remaining one, “To dinner. Tomorrow night, seven sharp. It’s my birthday, and I reckon we’ve become something like friends, no? Besides, your brother will be there-”

“Ron?” they ask at the same time.

“Well, it’ll hardly be Charlie, will it? Nothing could pull him from those dragons-”

“You know Charlie?” they ask again.

“I do, yes. I spent one winter in Romania with my Auntie, just before my apprenticeship. Interesting one, he is… though I think it would do him good to get acquainted with a good bath.” She stands straight, hands behind her back. “I digress- dinner tomorrow night, at mine, Ron and ‘Mione will be there, so Harry will most likely be as well. My… ah, never know what to call him- he’s the closest thing I have to a brother- will be there. If you don’t want to come, that’s fine, don’t feel pressured.”

She takes a moment, drawing a breath in and nodding once. When they don’t respond, she makes a small noise, “Right then. I’ll either see you tomorrow or Monday. Good night, boys.”

A moment after the door closes, George asks, “But- how’s she know Hermione?”

_{1 December 2001}_

All things (the bickering between Draco and Ron) set aside, the evening was going well so far. With a good meal, a cake from Molly Weasley, and lots of wine at the ready, Amalie was having a good birthday.

The Twins had arrived last, just as plates were being served and Harry was telling a story about one of his Auror tasks. They’d been given a plate and told to hush, this was the good part, then shoved in the general direction of a seat.

Draco was the first to laugh at Harry’s jokes, sparking a somewhat startled chain reaction of giggles. The storyteller himself had to pause to laugh at his own joke, and the birthday girl was thrilled. It seems, for the most part, that for tonight their past didn’t much matter.

Amalie is in the middle of going around the table, refilling water and wine glasses, when the soft crack of an Apparition captured everyone’s attention. In the middle of the room, her Father stood holding a small box.

“What the fuck?” Ron stood, halfway to drawing his wand when Hermione smacks his wrist.

“Daddy!” Amalie nearly shouts, setting the bottle of wine down and going to him. “You said you wouldn’t be able to get away this weekend!”

Snape glares at the group of miscreants in his childhood home, then looks at his daughter. “Yes, well, I pardoned myself from dinner a bit early. I hardly thought sending an owl was the proper thing for your birthday.”

Next to each other, it was clear as day that they were related. The same complexion, the same nose (if not a bit slimmer on Amalie), and the same wardrobe choices.

“Ah, you know I don’t need gifts. Do you want a plate?” she offers, waving off the box in his hand.

“I do not, thank you. I’ll take my leave.” He finally tears his gaze from the excessive amount of red hair in the room, looking at Draco. “Happy birthday, Amalie,” Severus says quietly, eyes settling on the girl at his side. He takes a moment to look over her, the corner of his mouth ticking up at the sight of her bright eyes and somewhat flushed cheeks. “Don’t have too many glasses, alright? Write me what you think of the gift.” The little box is moved into her hand, his spare brushing her hair from her face as he kisses her head.

As quick as he came, he’s gone.

“Pish, he never stays for birthday dinners,” Amalie says softly.

“I think that’s the most I’ve seen of Uncle Sev since graduation, truth be told.” Draco takes the bottle Amalie abandoned, refilling his glass.

“So you all just knew Snape had a daughter?” Ron is glancing around, hoping for a clue from someone.

“Known for ages, mate,” Harry supplies, “Ever since 'Mione found out.”

The aforementioned girl nods once, sipping at her water. “Amalie gave me tips on how to get in his good graces at school.”

Fred, still sitting at the table, stabbing at individual pieces of food on his plate, hums out, “Took us three weeks when it should’ve taken us all of two seconds, really.”

George nods, tacking on, “It wasn’t until a potion went wrong and she gave that sneer that Snape does.”

Amalie sighs deeply and turns the little box over in her hands, making her way back to the head of the table. Draco is to her left, Hermione to her right. The older girl rests a hand on the table, giving a kind smile, trying to assure her friend that the night was still good.

“So what did you get?” Harry asks, nodding to the box.

She sets the box on the table and pulls her wand out, poking at it. “It’ll take me a week to open it, I think. I can feel the charms radiating from it.”

Draco plucks it up, twisting it around and laughing softly, “He still does this? Never lets a tradition die, does he?”

Amalie smiles wide, shaking her head and letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “You do realize this is Severus Snape we’re talking about? He’s probably got the next seventy years lined up. Might even be planning for his grandkids already.”

They fall into a comfortable conversation, laughs and wine flowing. Eventually, Harry bids them goodbye, saying he really should turn in if he wants to be alive the next day. He parts after a kiss to Amalie’s cheek and a wave at Draco, flicking his wand and Disapparating home. Not long after, Draco makes a show of pulling the birthday girl in for a hug and kissing her head, then bidding them adieu. It takes a solid ten minutes for Hermione to wrap up a story on her latest research project, but she and Ron wish her a happy birthday and Side-Along home.

Amalie turns to where the twins are sitting side by side, smiling slightly at them, “Thank you for coming, really. And for not kicking up a fuss at Draco being here.”

Fred waves his hand. “We banked on him being here. We figure you’ve got us all wrapped around your finger, so we can behave.”

That makes Amalie laugh, one hand over her mouth and the other flat on her stomach. “Right, well, still thank you. It means a lot, truly. And… now I’ve got dozens of dishes demanding my attention. But first I have _got_ to change- be back in a second.”

In the time it takes her to dart upstairs and slip into a much simpler pair of black sweatpants and a grey sweater, she assumes the twins will have left. Plate after plate stacks into her hands, balancing carefully as she shoulders the swinging door to the kitchen–

“Oh!” She nearly shouts when the door doesn’t open fully, blocked by what she now realizes is Fred.

It must happen in slow motion, because she watches as the plates leave her hands, sees George scramble to do something, but hands are on her hips, then arms around her waist as she slips. The very man who caused her to tumble is now the only thing holding her up, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. George, a meter away, has his wand out and the dishes are floating mid-air.

“You alright there, little witch?” Fred laughs softly, keeping her close as she takes a few breaths. His hands settle on her hips and she doesn’t think to stop gripping his shoulders.

“I- yes, I didn’t- I thought you two went home…” Has he always had this many freckles? One day, she’ll count them-

“And leave you with this mess? What kind of men do you think us to be?” George chuckles, easily moving the dishes to the sink.

She glances at him, hands sliding down Fred’s chest and settling between them. “I- you don’t have to help-”

“Nonsense. It’s your birthday. You sit back and let us do the work, yeah?” Fred insists, using the hands still on her hips to usher her backward, tapping against her side before easily lifting her to sit on the counter.

That… should not be as arousing as it is. One glass too many, perhaps? However, something tells her it would garner the same reaction with absolutely no wine in her system.

George joins Fred in front of her, smirking slightly. Oh, they’re evil… But he merely reaches past her to grab a wine glass, leaning in far more than necessary.

“We’ll do you up right as rain, won’t we, Freddie?”

“'Course we will, George. We are gentlemen, after all.”

And, well, if she falls asleep that night thinking of Fred’s hands on her hips and George leaning over her, no one needs to know, right? (Except for Draco, who she owls the next morning and they spend at least an hour analyzing every detail. But still, no one _else_ needs to know.)


	4. Chapter 4

_{3 December 2001}_

Amalie is stunned when she walks into her job come Monday morning. The entire shop has been turned into a winter wonderland, with music playing and magic snow falling from the ceiling, disappearing as soon as it lands on her gloves and sleeves. Despite the snow, the shop was as warm as ever, thawing out her nose and stopping the slight shiver she had developed when she Apparated a block away.

Sue her, she needed to mentally prepare to spend a day with the Twins. The warmth of Fred’s hands still burned into her waist, the solid feel of his chest under her hands keeping her sufficiently distracted. Not to mention the heat she could feel radiating from George as he leaned over her-

“Do you like it?” A voice comes from right behind her, making her gasp and turn.

“George! You startled me!” Amalie huffs out a little laugh, working to remove her gloves.

Unphased, George settles a hand on the small of her back and ushers her to the brewing room. He doesn’t reply just yet, choosing to help her out of her coat. She mumbles a thank you and watches him hang it up, fixing the sleeves of her Victorian-style top. It’s one of her favorites, with a high collar and poofed sleeves that fit tight around her wrists, following the slight curve of her figure while still being modest. Matched with black slacks and gold accents, she felt it was a good outfit to come back in. Perhaps, if she was lucky, it would throw one or both of the Twins off their… game.

“Fred and I were thinking about a new line of potions to put out, we have some notes and ideas written up, so maybe you’d like to come up to ours for lunch today?” He completely bypasses her earlier comment about his sudden appearance, leaning back against the wall next to the coat hanger and gripping his wrist in his hand.

“I think I can manage that- wait, with both of you?”

George raises a brow- Amalie doesn’t miss the way his eyes fall down her body before lifting again- and smirks. “Would that be a problem?”

“No- no, of course not, but… you’d have to close up the shop for an hour or so.” She glances down at herself, hand skimming where her top is neatly tucked into her trousers.

“Think we’ll survive,” he chuckles, then steps forward. His hand- Merlin, what is it with these boys and their _hands_ \- reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear, voice going soft. “I quite like your hair down.”

Without waiting for a reply, he ghosts his thumb across her cheek and leaves.

What the fuck?

Hours later, with her cauldron cleaned and both her recipe book and experiment journal in hand, she goes to the first twin she finds, Fred, and keeps her books to her chest. He chuckles at her timid stance, leading her up the many steps to get to the door that signals the end of neutral territory.

It seems only fair, she supposes, that she be in their comfort zone when they were in hers not two days ago. Really though, it’s not fair, there’s two of them! Only one of her! But then again, that very fact had been something entertaining her mind for days…

_No, Amalie, that is not the kind of thing you should be thinking when stepping into the home of your employers._

Their home is exactly what she expected it to be. There are gadgets everywhere, along with a few Quidditch things, and briefly, she wonders if Molly was the one who helped decorate. It’s comfortable, Amalie finds, and she relaxes a bit before looking across the room at George. His apron and vest are gone, leaving him in just a button-down, and a quick glance to Fred shows that he’s in the process of removing the same two articles.

She looks away, then down at her journals. “I brought my notebooks; figured it would be better so I don’t have to remember the niche ingredients and can take notes.”

As George puts on tea, she and Fred sit at the small kitchen table. Thank Merlin for her self-inking quill, an inkpot would fall in a heartbeat. The Twins take turns spouting ideas for their next inventions, Amalie jotting them down in an orderly fashion.

“Hold on, you’ve spilled ink on your hand, I think,” George says as he sets two cups down.

Amalie looks at her hand, blushing faintly when she sees what he’s talking about. “No, that’s one of my tattoos.” She carefully unbuttons her right cuff, folding it up so the little serpent can be seen fully. She’s a beautiful little serpent, almost all black except for the flickers of gold that can be seen as she moves along Amalie’s wrist.

Fred is the first to speak, still staring at the little thing that seems to be staring back, “It’s… beautiful.”

Amalie smiles fondly at her little companion, folding her sleeve down and buttoning it easily. “Thank you, her name is Eden. She’s the only magical one I have, the others are all Muggle pieces.”

George clears his throat, “You- you have… others?”

Picking up her tea, she nods slightly. She doesn’t elaborate, feeling quite smug that she managed to take them by surprise. A small hum leaves her and she picks up her quill again, meeting Fred’s gaze.

“So, this love potion, tell me what you want it to do.”

He goes into detail and she continues taking notes, with George pitching in every other minute or so. Eventually, she leans back and sighs, looking at the three full pages of notes that she can work with. Fred is the one to get up this time, going to the kitchen and pulling things out.

“I’m starving, and… we haven’t got anything to eat.” He does his best pout and glances at the two still sitting, prompting Amalie to stack her things.

“We’ll go to mine, then? Order out, pop back in when we feel like it?”

George laughs, standing as well, “When we feel like it?”

Amalie grins, nodding. “I’m close with the owners, they won’t mind.”

The Twins share a look before shrugging and nodding, stepping closer. Having two men who are nearly a foot taller both come at you at the same time is dizzying, Amalie discovers. They decide to Side-Along with her, George taking her hand, and Fred slipping an arm around her waist as she flicks her wand.

They land in the middle of the entryway, all taking a moment to get their wits about them. Amalie moves first, setting her books down and going across to the record player, starting a soft tune. She wanders to the kitchen, pulling three menus from a drawer and taking a step back, only to be met with a wall of a person.

George settles his hands on her hips, chuckling, “Careful there, little witch. Precious cargo, don’t want to get all bruised up.”

She fumbles for something to say, settling on a rather silly response, “I don’t bruise easily, so…”

Fred hums from where he’s leaning against the wall a couple of feet away, “So we’ll have to work hard, then, won’t we?”

And, _oh_.

George doesn’t let her react, plucks the menus from her hands and steps away, looking through them. He hands one to Fred and leaves Amalie to place a hand on her chest, taking a deep breath.

“I reckon pizza would be good, what do you think Freddie?”

“I was craving Thai, actually. What about you, Amalie?”

Amalie looks at them, hand raising to run a hand through her hair. “Uh, both? Why not both?”

Fred and George share a look that makes her blush, feeling like she just gave an answer to a question they didn’t ask.

_{21 December 2001}_

Amalie has been working on a new line of love potions almost nonstop, getting ready for the month of February. She all but lived in her lab at home, only leaving for the necessities. Even Draco had followed her into the lab, sitting across from her and ranting about how he was going to ask someone out, but refusing to say who. She had laughed and given him the support he needed, throwing a sprig of rosemary at him.

But now she was at the joke shop bright and early- well, as bright as a winter morning in London could be- to brew her first testing batch of Twilight Moonbeams. The twins were out helping customers, leaving her to her own devices. It wasn’t until Fred knocked at the door that she stepped away, rolling her shoulders and opening the door.

“S'lunch time, didn’t want you to forget to eat again.” He smiles, offering a small bag.

“Oh? Tell me this isn’t-”

“Those little macarons you love? It is. George picked them up this morning.” Fred looks quite proud, leaning against the door frame.

Amalie turns and walks back into the lab, setting the bag down and glancing at her potion. Nearly perfect. Three more stirs counterclockwise and, “It’s done! I need to bottle it and then have someone- Fred, no-”

It was too late. Fred had taken the ladle and drank the full of it, licking his lips and humming.

“Tastes like peppermint-”

He’s cut off by Amalie swatting at him, a worried look on her face, “Are you daft? That’s a love potion! A potion I haven’t tested yet! Oh, Merlin, are you alright?” She looks over him, checking for any signs of injury.

“You’re quite cute when you worry about me,” Fred says softly.

Amalie looks at him, stunned into a brief silence. “Oh, Gods above…”

He’s got a spark in his eye and she can’t recall if it was there before or if it’s changed, but Fred is looking at her so intently that she has to look away. His hand reaches out and with one finger hooked under her chin, he lifts her head.

“You getting shy on me now? All because of a little love potion?” The ginger mumbles, a dreamy tone in his voice.

Amalie takes a deep breath, grabs Fred by the shoulders, and makes him sit on the couch.

“Stay. Here,” she orders, waiting just long enough to ensure he’ll listen.

With a nervous feeling in her belly, she walks out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her. She quickly finds George, placing a hand on the bend of his elbow to get his attention. He finishes with the customer in front of him, then turns to Amalie.

“Is everything alright? Look a bit pale, even for you…” George gives a half-smile, more focused on the girl in front of him.

“Um, so, Fred- he- I-” she huffs, rubbing at her temples.

The younger twin places a hand on the small of her back, leading her to a more quiet corner of the shop, “Take a breath, love. What about Fred?”

Deep breath, in and out…

“Fred drank the love potion I’m brewing. And since I was brewing, it’s acting as if I’m the giver, so… he’s… a bit in love with me, for the time being. And I’m not quite sure what to do.”

George takes a moment to process what Amalie said, nodding slowly. He drags a hand across his face before giving a little laugh, shaking his head. “Of course he drank it… Alright, well, if memory serves, any remedy will take a good few hours to brew… Are you willing to just let him wait it out? He can stay with you in the lab so that if anything goes wrong, you can help him.”

Amalie blinks at him, looking a bit confused, “You… that’s it? Just let him sit with me?” George nods and she adds, “Alright, yeah, I can do that…”

Amalie does in fact do it. She manages the rest of the day, cheeks warm at Fred’s near-constant praising. By the time the store closes, he has more than waxed poetic about her beauty and brains. According to him, she is the most beautiful woman to ever grace the Wizarding World, the smartest person he has ever met, a moon among stars and he is but the tide, always reacting to the force of her.

At home, going over her notes, Amalie discovers something that sends a chill up her spine and a warmth to her core.

She had neglected to put rose thorns in. The potion was botched. Ineffective.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is almost all smut im not even sorry but also this will explain how George and Fred handle themselves in later chapters

_{21 December 2001, Continued}_

Amalie is moving before she can stop herself, pulling her wand from where it's tucked in her pajama shorts and wordlessly casting. She lands in the middle of their apartment, chest rising and falling deeply with the weight of her discovery. Idly, she remembers the fact that she's in an old band tee cut into a crop top and shorts that are a bit too short for public view, but she can't care-

"Amalie?" Fred asks, surprised. He's standing across the room just outside of a door- if she looks past him, she can see a bed, but she doesn't care about a bed, because Fred Fucking Weasley is shirtless.

She drops her wand to run her hands through her hair, mouth falling open, "The potion-" As she cuts herself off, Fred walks closer and scratches the back of his neck.

Once again, Amalie moves without thinking. She takes four steps to him, hands going from her hair to his shoulders. Fred almost starts to speak, but she cuts him off by rising on her toes and pulling him down into a kiss.

Fred's hands settle heavily on her hips as he kisses her back, only needing a second to recover from the shock. He kisses almost exactly how she imagined, a full-bodied response that warms her from the inside out. One arm slips around her waist and his now free hand trails up to grip the side of her neck, keeping her in place. He doesn't hesitate to take the kiss further, sucking her bottom lip and giving a soft nip.

Amalie pulls away, breath coming hard and fast as she rests her head against his, "The potion was botched. You weren't under any influence."

Fred opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by another voice, "Jeez, a guy goes to brush his teeth and misses all the fun, huh?"

She all but comes to life at the idea that George saw her kissing his twin, "George- I- I can-"

The older of the two cuts her off with a little shove, chest pressed to her back, "Go."

George smirks while she walks to him, eyes raking over her body and settling on her mouth. He raises a brow, left hand resting on her waist as he speaks. "Imagine my surprise when I see my brother pressed against the girl we've been wanting for weeks, not even a shout to let me know you were here... half-naked, no less?"

He whistles lowly, making a hot ball of shame settle in Amalie's stomach. She opens her mouth to speak, but this time it's her who gets cut off. His kiss is nothing like she dreamed of. It's a bruising thing, hands gripping hard at her hips and pulling her flush against him. The noise that escapes her is _not her fault, dammit._

Amalie barely registers the fact that George is pulling away, only for him to lean down more and grip at her thighs, easily lifting her and backing her into the wall. With nowhere to go, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the freckled flesh. Over his shoulder, she can see Fred watching, leaning against the wall with a predatory grin on his lips.

A quiet moan falls from her own lips when George glides his tongue across her pulse point, biting into the pale skin. Her head falls back against the wall, back arching as he works to leave a mark. A hand grips her chin and she opens her eyes to find Fred beside her, a careful and calculated look on his face.

Merlin help her, she's acting on pure impulse as she tears her chin from Fred's grip and wraps her lips around his thumb, sucking gently. Fred lets out a groan of appreciation, pressing down on her tongue and gripping her jaw.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you? Don't worry, petal, we'll put that mouth to good use soon enough." He chuckles, pulling his thumb free and turning her head more so he can inspect his brother's work.

George pulls away, looking at Fred, and Amalie has never been more envious of their ability to speak without words. They seem to decide on something, George taking a step back and securing her with an arm around her waist. She's toted to the room George came from initially, her chin hooking over his shoulder as she looks around.

She doesn't have much time to look, as she's set on a bed. Fred joins her, readily rejoining their lips in a heated kiss. Any thought of decor is thrown out the window with the feel of his hands skimming her bare skin, traveling up and up until she lifts her arms, allowing him to discard her shirt. The act leaves her in shorts and a sports bra, the edges of another tattoo peeking out from the fabric still on her chest.

Fred thumbs against the ink, holding her eye as he allows a finger to slip under the elastic. A lifted brow asks permission and Amalie has to take a breath before she nods. Her chest was proportionate to her: petite. Something that used to bother her, but in recent years she had learned to be thankful.

Taking initiative, she crosses her arms and pulls the garment off, sparing a glance at George. He's sitting across the room, legs spread and head tilted as he watches intently.

Oh. So that's how it's gonna go.

A warm hand slides from her hip to her chest, gently squeezing her breast. It provokes a small groan and bold move on her part. She moves from beside him to in his lap, thighs parting as she straddles him. He happily accepts the change in position, brushing her hair back so he can study her.

She shifts, turning her upper body so he can see the full floral piece that marks the side of her ribcage. It was elaborate, great detail put into every petal and every vine, black ink showing almost perfectly on her pale skin. Fred ghosts his hand over each line, then trails a finger over a constellation of dark freckles that rests just to the side of the swell of her left breast.

"Did it hurt?" His voice is barely a whisper, almost as if he's afraid to ruin the moment.

Her response begins with a hum, "Mhm, took months to heal..." He sends a questioning glance and she continues, "If you heal it, the ink goes away. You have to let it heal naturally."

Fred nods slightly, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the biggest flower. His lips stay on her skin as he moves, leaving a wet trail across her chest until he settles in the valley of it, pressing sloppy kisses. She's nearly taken aback by the gentleness of it all, a pleased sigh escaping as he sweeps his tongue over a peaked nipple.

Something in her kicks into gear then, hips shifting as she's reminded of the heat in her core. "Freddie, please..."

Never one to keep a lady waiting, Fred pulls his wand and goes to wave it when George suddenly speaks, "No. No magic. Strip her yourself. She's a gift; you have to unwrap her."

The casual dominance from the seemingly softer twin makes her whine as she's guided from Fred's lap. Amalie is made to stand, hands held up and out of the way as her current partner slips his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and tugs them down, leaving her bare. He stands then, hands working at the knot holding his sweatpants, but she bats them away. Adeptly, she undoes the tie and sinks to her knees as she pulls both his trousers and boxers down.

"Fuck," Fred mumbles, stepping out and kicking the clothes aside.

Amalie fights a smile, thrilled that she's able to make him feel the way she feels. She lifts herself, nails skimming up his thighs as she looks to George for permission. He gives a nod and she sets to work, wrapping her nimble hand around the base of Fred. Taking her time, she flicks her wrist and takes note of the small noises he makes, eventually leaning forward and licking at the tip of him.

It's a bitter taste, one she wouldn't change for the world. Carefully, she suckles at the head and pumps what isn't in her mouth, eyes lifting to watch him. His own eyes are closed, lips parted and head tilted back as she works him. She isn't allotted much time, as Fred runs a hand through her hair and tugs her away. He draws her up, kissing her gently as he sits back on the bed, pulling her with him.

Once again she settles in his lap, the underside of him now pressed against where she's all but dripping. Fred grips her hips, guiding her as she rocks against him, soft praises leaving his lips.

"That's a good little witch, take what you need... Doing so good, aren't you?" he whispers against her ear, making her whine.

Her voice is rough from lack of use, head falling against the crook of Fred's neck, "Please, Freddie..."

She doesn't have to look to know that Fred is looking to George for permission. It must be granted because calloused hands are lifting her up, carefully easing her back down onto his cock. All the air is taken from her lungs as she settles, nails digging into his shoulders and head falling back.

"Fucking hell..." Amalie groans softly, giving an experimental rock of her hips.

Fred moans at that, low and deep, and Amalie doesn't want to wait anymore. She uses the placement of her hands to keep rocking in his lap, pressing wet kisses along the column of his throat. It's her turn to taste, tongue soothing the bite marks she leaves. Once she finds a spot that makes him fuck up into her, she focuses solely on sucking and biting and bouncing.

He lays back, taking her with him and using the leverage and hands on her hips to pull her down, meeting his thrusts. An idea runs through her head and she sits up, pushing his hands away from her and rolling her hips slowly. She runs her hands along his arms, small hands gripping his wrists and pinning them above his head.

The response it garners is _astounding_. Fred simply gives in, allowing her to take full control and move at the pace that pleases her. She's panting now, a coil starting to build tension in her belly.

"Keep your hands above your head. Understand?" she demands, rewarding him with a kiss when he nods. The witch moves then, sitting up and putting her hands flat on his chest as she uses his body- his cock- to pleasure herself.

Behind her, the bed dips. She doesn't spare George a glance but can feel the heat radiating from him, can feel his hands ghosting over her hips and bum as she grinds against Fred. The placement of her hands pushes her breasts together, a fact that George takes advantage of as he gropes at her. Carefully, he pulls her hair back and moves it all to fall over her right shoulder, kissing along the slope of her left. Fred is rutting up into her, all but whimpering and she knows he's close- but George slips a hand down and around to work small, fast circles over her clit and-

Amalie is vaguely aware of the moan that leaves her as her head goes back, falling against George's shoulder as she arches with the suddenness and force of her orgasm. Distantly, she acknowledges that Fred is obeying her order even through his own high, cock pulsing hot and heavy inside of her.

George allows both of them a moment of reprieve before he wraps his arms around Amalie and lifts her. She makes a surprised sound that he shushes, lays her face up on the bed next to Fred, and goes to work. For as similar as they look and act, they are two very different lovers. Fred's counterpart is simultaneously his exact opposite; gentle kisses and light touches turn to harsh bites and a grip that will surely bruise even her.

He assaults her chest with a litany of marks, making a pattern of them starting at the top of her right breast and ending just under her left. George continues down, licking flat lines on her hips and inner thighs, a burst of cool air coming from his lips. Amalie arches at the sensation then mewls when he presses his mouth to her core. Apparently unphased by the fact that Fred's seed is still dripping from her, George devours her cunt as if it's his last meal. Her hands fly to his hair, tugging both away and closer- she's far too sensitive for this, but it's a delectable feeling, the perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

"George- Georgie, please- oh, _fuck_ , fuck me...," she babbles, turning to look at Fred. If George wouldn't listen to her pleas, then perhaps Fred would.

It proves to be useless. Fred simply rolls to his side and kisses her gently, licking into her mouth and resting a hand on her throat. She had only ever come this fast on her own, hands working deftly to build herself up- but she's on the edge again, falling fast, a long, thick finger sliding into her being the trigger.

She breaks for a second time, thighs trembling and voice giving out. This seems to satisfy George, as he finally pulls away with his mouth shining. He stares for a moment, taking in the broken state of her.

Amalie was truly a mess. Hair mussed and splayed around her head, bright red marks with purple centers all across her neck and chest, thighs slick and messy, tears welling in her eyes. Her chest is heaving as she tries to calm herself, but the way George moves up her body has her panting again. Fred moves back, out of the way, and simply watches the show.

"I'm not done with you yet, little witch." He murmurs the promise just beneath her ear, nipping at the sensitive skin. George sits up and fists at his member, groaning softly as he lines up.

The witch has all of a split second to prepare herself, but no one could've helped her understand just how full George would make her feel. Fred was a bit longer, thinner, and filled her considerably, but George? Stars above, he was thick. He stretched her to the brim, filled her in a way she didn't know possible, and gave her little time to adjust. He holds himself up with his arms on either side of her head, moaning and grunting into her ear as he fucks her.

Any theories she had on George being soft were out the window, his harsh thrusts and rough kisses against her lips were enough to well and truly shatter those expectations. One hand slips down, splaying across her thigh and pulling it up around his waist, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper.

"Oh- Oh, my God-" Amalie cries out, wrapping her arms around George's shoulders and clinging. Once he's sure she'll keep her leg up, he slips his arm under her hips, keeping her close while he uses her dripping hole for his own pleasure.

At least, she thought it was for his own pleasure until of course, he bites at her earlobe and demands that she release once more. She whimpers, eyes closing tight as she focuses on the drag of him against her, the satisfying pressure inside, and the pain pulsing from all the bites. It's by far the most intense orgasm she's ever had, and the only one from penetration alone. Her high crashes through her like lightning, starting at her toes and shooting up into her core, warming every inch of her skin.

It leaves her panting, barely able to whine as she clings to George, feeling him spill inside her just as Fred had. He takes a moment to come down, hips still rocking just slightly against her. Eventually, he kisses her once more before sitting up.

Anything that happens between the time George moves away to the time she blinks her eyes open to find herself sitting in a tub, one twin on either side of her, is a mystery. There are bubbles around her, though, and a pleasant soreness between her hips, so she isn't upset.

"There's our girl..." Fred says softly, reaching over and thumbing at her cheek.

"Mmm, how long was I out?" Amalie asks, voice rough from the noises they pulled and from the recent misuse.

"About twenty minutes, give or take. Just long enough for each of us to shower and then get you settled in here." Comes from George. She turns her head to look at him, blushing faintly now that she's had a glimpse of how dominant he is.

A large part of her is glad that one is more submissive than the other- she'd always found herself to be quite versatile. Knowing that no matter what, she had someone to go toe-to-toe with her was comforting.

Amalie nods slowly, leaning back and closing her eyes again. She allows them- George, mostly- to bathe her, helping when necessary. The dull ache in her joints proves to be worth it when she's bundled into a warm towel and taken back to bed. Here, Fred dries her off and helps her into what she knows to be his favorite sweater and a pair of fitted boxers. Fitted for one of the twins, though, and despite the fact that they rest low on her bruised hips, the sweater falls down enough to keep her decent.

She's tucked between them then, head on Fred's chest and George's arm secure around her waist. It's a comfortable way to fall asleep, really.


	6. Chapter 6

_{22 December 2001}_

Amalie wakes to the smell of breakfast, which promptly reminds her that she didn't have much of a dinner last night, but then again, more important things were happening. She groans softly and stretches, unintentionally finding a body in the bed with her. Fred, she realizes slowly as she studies him. It's a rare moment; to be able to look without him having any cheek.

She tries to count the freckles on him, giving up after a mere 15 on his nose alone. They span across his face and neck, down his shoulders and arms, and fading out along his chest. There's a mole on his shoulder, though, and she thinks it's her favorite. He's quite sharp, now that she can really let herself look. Of course, she knew this, but upon closer inspection, she imagined he rivaled even her. Cheekbones prominent and a solid jawline, a face thinner than his other half, a slightly crooked nose, though she still took the cake when it came to prominent nasal features.

Carefully, she shifts and traces a line from his forehead to the tip of his nose, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. He stirs, just barely scrunches up his face and Amalie wants to coo. The witch curls into his side, still studying him, but her attentions have moved to the mess of bruises on his neck. A particularly nasty one makes her blush, remembering how she'd pinned him down and used him.

"Are you going to keep staring or are you going to say good morning?" His voice startles her, lower than usual, and raspy from sleep.

She stammers slightly, grateful for the break he gives her when he rolls and kisses her. This, she could do. With one arm propping himself up, his free hand slips under her sweater to lay flat against her belly. It nearly spans her waist, almost aggressively reminding her of their size difference.

Fred trails a line of kisses down her jaw, tongue pressing against her bruised skin. "You, little witch, are absolutely beautiful."

"She is, isn't she?" George voices a reply, standing in the doorway holding a cup of coffee. "I've made breakfast if you two would like to join the land of the living?"

George watches as she climbs out of bed, not bothering to fight a smirk when she winces at the first bit of weight on her legs. Sweater be damned, he knows he bruised her last night. As they settle in the kitchen, Amalie tucked between them, conversation comes easily enough. Talk of potions, Valentine's sales, the upcoming holidays, anything and everything except for what happened last night.

Until, of course, George pins her against the kitchen counter. He puts a hand at the base of her throat, kissing her deeply. It's much more gentle than how he kissed her last night, but by no means is it soft. He still bites at her, pressing his tongue into her mouth and claiming the space as his. When he pulls away, she chases him, demanding another kiss. She gets what she wants, the second kiss being much more controlling than the first. This time when he pulls away, the hand on her throat squeezes to keep her still.

"Fred deserves a turn, don't you think?" George laughs softly at the whine she gives off, "Oh, you're just desperate for anything we'll give, aren't you?"

Amalie blushes down to her chest, licking her lips and looking at Fred. He moves to take his brother's place, cupping her face carefully but surprising her with the force of his kiss. Almost like a man starved, he licks into her mouth and doesn't stop until she's pulling away and panting for air.

A sudden tapping at the kitchen window pulls all three of them from their bubble. George is quick to let the owl in, taking it for the letter and offering it a piece of fruit. Amalie knows that owl and plucks the paper from George's hand, opening it up.

"Oh, shit!" She slides off the counter and scampers to the bedroom, grabbing her bra and pulling the sweater off to change. The twins wander in behind her, happily watching her pull the sweater back on and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. She rolls the waist until they stay on her hips, stopping when she notices them watching. "I- I'm leaving today, for France for the Hols- You- Well, honestly, Fred, you won't be getting this sweater back. I quite like it."

Amalie looks around, ducking under George's arm to go to the main living area. She turns and stands on her toes to plant a kiss on each man, holding her hand out and mumbling an _Accio_ to pull her wand to her.

"I promise I'll owl, alright? Shit, I wish I had more time to say goodbye, but I don't-"

Fred grabs her by the waist, leaning down and kissing her deeply. It's an efficient distraction, her hands falling to her sides as she kisses him back. He only pulls away when George tugs at her, allowing his brother to also kiss their witch goodbye.

"Have fun in France, love. We'll see you when you get back." George smiles fondly at her, giving one last squeeze to her hips.

"Oh, and don't forget, we share with each other but no one else, you're ours now!" Fred calls as she waves her wand.

Amalie lands in her living room still a little kiss-dazed, a smile on her lips. She takes a moment to close her eyes, relishing in the fact that the past twenty-four hours had really happened.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Draco nearly cries out at the disheveled sight of her, having just come from her kitchen.

She yelps, aiming her wand but bursting into a fit of giggles when she realizes it's only Draco. The giggles don't stop, though, overtaking her until her arms are around her tummy. Briefly, Draco considers the possibility that she's been poisoned.

_{2 January 2002}_

France is, as per usual, stunning. A thick blanket of snow covers almost everything in sight, the trees a deep red and mountains cutting into the sky. Amalie will never tire of the view, not even after seven years in a castle in those very mountains.

Currently, she's sitting on a patio on one of the upper levels of the Malfoy Mansion with Draco sitting beside her. Luckily the patio is charmed to stay warm, even with the snowfall not two feet away. They are sharing a plate of scones and tea, a tradition that reminds her of when they were little.

At the age of four, the pair of them were all but glued to each other. Matching bloodied knees from jumping from the tree they were not supposed to be climbing, missing teeth and waiting up together to catch the tooth fairy (though, Severus Snape in a pair of poorly-constructed human-sized fairy wings had been enough to send them both into fits of laughter on the spot), baiting garden gnomes, falling asleep trying to best each other at gobstones-- they were inseparable. Things were rough for a while as Amalie and Severus coped with the loss of Danica, but by the age of eight, they were once again terrorizing their parents.

Now, at the ripe ages of 22 and 21, their bond has grown with them. They have been each other's true and only friend for quite a while, sharing many dark secrets that they'd never dare share in the light of day. Siblings born in tragedy, a bond that will never be broken. There is a reason Draco's Patronus is tattooed into her left forearm, and hers on his shoulder.

"So how are you going to tell Uncle Sev?" Draco asks.

"Tell Dad what?" she asks, sipping her tea.

"That you and the Weasley Twins shagged." The way he says it so nonchalantly makes Amalie choke on her tea, sputtering.

"Malfoy!" She hisses, sitting up and smacking at his shoulder.

Draco chuckles into a blueberry scone, raising a brow, "Am I wrong, Ama?" He dusts his fingers off and places his arm around her shoulders, resting on the back of her chair.

Oh, blast him for pulling out the nickname!

"You- Merlin, for a Malfoy I thought you'd be more tactful." She huffs, crossing her legs and tucking into his side. "You are not wrong. We... Fuck, it was- I still have bruises. I didn't know sex with a man could feel like that."

He snorts softly, watching a swarm of Doxies travel in the distance. "At least one of us is getting some... But really, do you have a plan for telling your father?"

Amalie sighs softly and sips her tea, taking time to think. Truthfully, she has no idea what to say about it. They had sex, they had a good morning, and she left. Granted, Fred did say she was their witch now, but in what sense of the word?

Groaning, she drops her head back against Draco's arm. "I probably won't tell him for the time being. I need to know where George and Fred stand, and you know Dad, he's a traditionalist. They'll have to ask to court me... Assuming-"

"They want you. I've come into the shop all of three times and could feel the tension. Believe me, Ama, they'll court you without hesitation." Draco, admittedly, has never been the best at comforting. Always had a flair for the dramatic, choosing to ignore the issue and will it to cease existing.

To match, Amalie was never one to be comforted. She'd rather sit in her own despair- a trait surely inherited from her father- and let it stew. Even as a child, she never asked for her bruises or scrapes to be tended to, her mother was often the one dragging her to the sink to clean the dried blood from her skin. Later in life, it manifested as her actively turning down comfort from any and all people who offered it. With Severus Snape as her father and the Malfoy's as close friends, she didn't even realize it was a problem until she went to school.

All this to say, this is one of the few times in her life that Amalie is thankful for the offered comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be up 14 dec. !


	7. Chapter 7

_{6 January 2002}_

Amalie stands next to her father, looking far too much alike in their black cloaks. Fat snowflakes land in their hair and on their shoulders, melting and weighing them down even more. Neither has spoken, Snape opting to stare at the weathered-down headstone and Amalie looking at an over-the-top angel statue. Everything is covered in an orange glow, the sun just beginning to rise over the mountains, and if not for the weight in her chest, it would be beautiful.

It is the anniversary of her mother's death. Seventeen years have gone by and Amalie does not know what to feel, or if she should feel anything at all. Historically, the father-daughter duo haven't spent this day together since the girl started at Beaubatons, and now that they are together in front of her mother's grave, she feels sick.

Truthfully, she doesn't know if she actually misses the woman or just the concept of her. Only faint memories remain: a lullaby with words missing, a blurred smile, and if Amalie really commits, eyes that shine. Her father took all the photos of Danica down in the weeks after her passing and Amalie was too young to understand what was really happening.

A breeze picks up and she shivers, slipping her free hand under her chin. In her other, a bundle of flowers is bunched together in a sad little bouquet. The rustle of the petals prompts her to step forward, resting them at the base of the headstone. A side glance at her father tells her nothing. Damn him, with his walls so high and so thick that not even his own child can read him.

They stand in silence, Amalie taking note of how the shadow of the statue is gradually shrinking. She isn't sure if her father has even blinked since they arrived. For once, they chose to drive instead of Apparating. Her mother is buried in a centuries-old Catholic graveyard that has far too many Angels for her comfort. Not far off, an ornate Cathedral juts up into the clouds, red bricks still standing proud. The design reminds her a bit of Malfoy Manor with its dramatic stature. It takes her a moment to remember that Draco's family is in fact French, so maybe it's something to do with old blood.

Had her mother been dramatic? She'd have to be to put up with Severus Snape for as long as she did.

She wants to go home.

Taking one last look at the headstone, she turns and leaves her father's side.

Hours later, Amalie is tucked in the corner of a couch in the library with a book in her hands and a blanket over her legs. Over the top of the yellowing pages, she sees her father sitting just past where the blanket ends. Slowly, she closes the book and sits up, staring at him as he stares at the floor.

A moment passes and Amalie decides to break this forsaken silence, voice straining, "I don't... I'm beginning to forget her, Daddy."

Snape allows his eyes to close but says nothing, and she pushes on.

"I don't remember her perfume anymore, or her laugh- I can't picture her smile, and her eyes, were they green or blue? Did she talk with her hands? I remember stories but I don't know if the stories are replacing memories I actually had-" Amalie cuts herself off, throat closing with the treat of a cry.

Slowly, her father rubs his face and sighs. "I miss her, too."

Something about it makes her angry. She kicks the blanket off and sits up fully, book long forgotten. "Do you? Do you actually? You never speak of her, you refuse to put pictures back up, you locked up all her things-"

"Amalie-"

"No! I'm sick of this! It's been seventeen years and I don't remember what my own fucking _mother_ looks like!" The only reason she takes a breath is to keep control of herself, so she waits a moment and schools her tone, "I can't mourn a woman I don't remember. Whatever reason you have for locking all of this shit away, you need to fix it. I want the memory of my mother to be a happy one, damn it, and I will not let you ruin it."

With that, she turns and leaves him sitting there.

By the time she makes it to the conservatory, where she knows Draco will be, a painful feeling has built in her chest. He must hear her coming because he turns just in time for her to practically fall into his arms, clinging to him as she lets out a broken cry. It startles her just as much as it does him, yet she's powerless to stop herself as one of her well-built walls collapses.

It's a pathetic sight, the pair of them bundled together on the cold tiled floor of a greenhouse. Draco isn't prepared for Amalie's knees to give out, and their descent is best described as an elegant fall. She lays between his legs, her own tucked up against her chest as he pets at her hair. He knows what today is, knows the weight it carries, and doesn't want to venture a guess as to what made her break like this.

"Hey, hey... Whatever it is, love, it'll be okay, I'm sure." His voice is muffled by her hair, but he follows the statement with a kiss to her temple, so it doesn't matter.

Draco holds her until her sobs melt to sniffles, arms tight around her to keep her secure. When she lifts her head, he leans back to study her. To see Amalie Prince after a cry is not an everyday thing- Draco can remember having seen her maybe four times in his life, and this is the worst of them all. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, cheeks still wet and red from being pressed against the shoulder of his blazer.

She wipes at her face, frowning and rolling her eyes. "I hate crying. It's fucking stupid."

Draco laughs softly, nodding in agreement, "I suppose it is. Do you wanna... tell me what happened? Are you okay? I'll hex anyone who hurt you-"

"Merlin, no, please stop talking. I'm fine. I'll be fine," she insists, smoothing out a crease in the lapel of his jacket.

"Oh thank fuck." He drops his head, sighing deeply, "Seeing you like that... It's weird. Us Malfoy's don't do emotions."

Amalie snorts as she moves to stand, using Draco as leverage. He mocks offense at being used and then demands she help him up, which she easily does.

"Bloody hell, I forget that you played Quidditch, you're stronger than you look...," he complains, rubbing his shoulder.

An hour later they're back in the library, Draco sitting properly in a chair to read while Amalie is hunched over a desk, scribbling notes. They intentionally avoided the section where she'd shouted at her father, instead going up to the second level and finding a spot that overlooked the extensive plot of land. Occasionally, Amalie will mumble a question and Draco will answer, surprising her with his presence.

Eventually, Draco joins her at the desk, determined to know what she's working on. He glares at her journal when he sees her messy script, studying it for a moment. "Why are all your notes in French?"

She rolls her eyes and sets her quill down, cracking her knuckles, "Because for seven years it was the language I spoke most. Assignments were given in French and thus were easier to just keep in French."

He lightly smacks her shoulder for the amount of sass in her tone, going back to his chair. Despite his outward irritation, he's glad to see her smiling and taunting him after their ordeal in the conservatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: 18 dec


	8. Chapter 8

_{8 January 2001}_

When Amalie returns to Spinner's End, it is done with a weight in her heart. She hasn't spoken to her father since her small explosion two days prior. Not even a goodbye; Lucius was the one to tell her Snape left. It seems as if the carefully crafted Father-Daughter relationship was falling apart due to her outburst. Perhaps, though, it was because of his refusal to be open and honest with her. Yes, she very much wants to blame him.

After unpacking- which is done by hand, she needs the repetitious chore to keep calm- she cleans. Upstairs, downstairs, the tops of cabinets, underneath things that haven't been moved in thirty years, all of it. When she's done, she has half the mind to start again.

She's halfway up the stairs when there's a knock at the front door. Her whole body freezes- who could this be? All of her friends knew to Floo or Owl or Apparate. Slowly, she makes her way down and stands on her toes to peek through and figure out who's here.

It's a bloke. Rather cute bloke, but not nearly as cute as the twins. She cracks the door open and raises a brow, looking at his... work robes?

"Miss Prince?" he asks, shuffling his feet and looking nervous.

"Yes?"

"You, er... called? Said you had a few plants you needed help-"

"Oh!" she nearly shouts, nodding. "Right, yes, apologies. Come in, it's dreadful out there, would you like tea?" Never let it be said that Amalie is a rude hostess.

"Um, sure, that would be nice."

Amalie puts the kettle on and turns to- shit, she hasn't asked his name- but he's staring at her like she has two heads. Blimey. Can she have one normal day? She glances down, sighing when she sees her somewhat normal outfit. Much more color than she usually permits, but she needed to be close to the twins, so she chose the sweater she took from Fred.

"I know the sweater is too big, but-"

"You're Professor Snape's daughter." It is not a question.

She tenses, ready to pull her wand if he decides he doesn't much like this fact about her. "I am."

The nameless man standing across from her makes a face of contemplation, which only serves to irritate her.

"Prettier than I thought you'd be. He was right scary at school. The whole Ridikulus thing helped, though."

_Ridik-_

"Neville Longbottom?" She huffs out incredulously. He nods, scratching the back of his neck. Amalie has to laugh, rubbing her face and tucking stray hairs behind her ears. "I didn't know Sprout would send you, I thought she meant she'd send a colleague- I mean, a, you know, different... Merlin..." Amalie sighs softly, turning back to the stove and willing the water to heat faster.

Neville shuffles about for a minute, leaning back against the counter. "You know who I am?"

How could she not? Draco practically wrote a full-length Daily Prophet article on how absurd her father looked in pink, and how pathetic it was of Neville to be that scared of Snape. She distinctly remembers pointing out that Draco had been scared of her father many, many times in their childhood- Draco has always been a sneaky little git, and it got him a number of lectures and cauldron-scrubbing sessions.

Amalie nods, pulling two mugs from the newly-cleaned cabinet. "I do, yeah... Hermione mentioned you a few times in her letters, and Draco... also mentioned you."

"Bet his words weren't as nice as 'Mione's, huh?" He snorts out a laugh, staying on his side of the kitchen.

"No, but believe me, I reminded him of all the times my father has scared the living shit out of him, so. Take that how you will." Amalie keeps herself busy with the tea, willing the awkward tension to dissipate.

Once the tea is done, she slides Neville's mug to him and returns to her little designated nook, crossing one leg over the other. Meeting a new person whilst in her maybe-boyfriend's sweater and old trackies is not ideal, but it isn't like she has much say in the matter.

"You didn't go to Hogwarts, why's that?"

Bloody fucking Gryffindors and their audacity.

She stares at him for a moment, debating if it's worth being honest. Hermione only ever had good things to say about Neville as a child and teen, always bumbling about and avoiding trouble. From both Draco and Hermione, Amalie got reports that while he was awkward and insecure, he stood up for his friends when it counted. Still, though, she has no clue where his loyalties lie and ultimately decides it's None Of His Business.

"Long story short? He didn't want to deal with me." She sips her tea, watching and gauging his reaction.

He, in turn, studies her. After a solid thirty seconds- Amalie counts, she always counts- he picks up his tea and drinks a bit. "The long story?"

She gives a half sneer, "What makes you think I'd tell you?"

"Because you look like you've just returned from emotional hell and I can smell cleaning chemicals," he sets his tea down, "which a lot of people do when they don't want to think about something."

The sneer remains. Amalie huffs and rolls her eyes, walking out of the room. She goes directly to the patio door, sliding it open and stepping out to glare at her plants. Neville follows her out, whistles lowly, and sets his tea on a small table.

"Oh, hell, does you Devil's Snare have a grudge or something?" He blinks at the unruly plant in the back corner, secluded and overtaking another plant, but always staying in the shadows.

"Or something. Can you fix it?" When he nods, she walks back inside, setting her tea down and going up the stairs.

Approximately five minutes later, she comes back down the stairs in one of her usual outfits, all black and full-length everything. She's all but huffing and puffing, still barefoot, when she stomps out to the patio and glares at the back of Neville's head.

"My mum is dead."

He stops in his tracks, turning to look at her.

"I mean, she's been dead. Seventeen years. So like, whatever. But my dad's been a prick about it this whole time. I shouted at him the other day, and now he's not speaking to me, I think." Words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, eyes set on the frayed stitching on his shirt pocket.

Slowly, he sheaths his wand and crosses his arms, tilting his head. "Alright."

Alright?

"Alright," she states, blinking rapidly. "I don't remember what she looks like, but I did just remember you- Shit. I feel like a dolt now..."

Neville shrugs and puts his weight on one leg, keeping an eye on the menacing plant beside him. "It's fine; I've come to terms with what happened to my parents."

She swallows nervously. Since when did she get nervous talking to practical strangers in her own home doing work for her?

"I don't remember what my mum looks like, my father has a whole room of her things and pictures and- and he's locked it up. Wards up one end and down the other. He won't let me in. Literally or metaphorically. Won't tell me anything about her, won't even talk about it. I shouted at him about it."

He nods once, dusting his hands off. "You mentioned the shouting bit. Anything else?"

Amalie takes a breath and crosses her arms, thinking. It's none of his business to know about the twins, so that's off the table. Her mum, her dad... Draco, she could mention that. Then again, Draco might hex her if he found out she was having a therapy session with Neville and he was a topic.

"I had a big cry after I shouted at my dad and Draco said he doesn't like when I cry. Though, I reckon he doesn't like anything to do with vulnerability. Can't blame him on that one. My dad, though. He's the reason I got a job with the twins at their shop. Said I should get in touch with the half of me that's meant to be happy and bubbly. Fucking hypocrite though, isn't he? Sending me off to make a connection with my mum when he refuses to tell me about her."

Neville raises a brow as if to ask if she's done. She nods. He nods. "Your mum went to Hogwarts, right? If she was close with Snape, Lily had to know her. If Lily knew her, so did Remus and Sirius."

Remus and Sirius?

"Who?"

He sighs and glances at the evil plant, then starts for his tea. Amalie steps out of his way, watching him carefully. A painfully long minute passes as he thinks, or stares at his tea. Whatever the fuck he's doing.

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. They were friends with Potter and Evans. From what I hear, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black were thick as thieves. They loved taking the piss with Snape-"

"I'm aware of the tales. I've never heard of them as anything other than 'that evil git Black and his pet boyfriend, Lupin', I didn't know they had actually names."

"Right. Well, they have to know about your mum. Not every day someone falls in love with a greasy dungeon bat like that. No offense."

She snorts, "None taken. I learned at an early age the wonders of a good shampoo and conditioner."

Neville smiles and laughs softly, setting his tea down and turning back to the Devil's Snare. "Harry and Ron live with Sirius, and Remus is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Sirius isn't in much, from what I hear, but you could still ask Harry about it. Should warn you, though, Remus... he's in a weird relationship."

Amalie watches as Neville wordlessly casts, sending the plant back to its proper place. He moves to the next plant she requested tending to, finally speaking. "What on earth does that mean?"

Neville shrugs and makes a vague gesture with his hands, "He's, er... with Sirius."

"Men can be in relationships, Neville."

He gives her an exasperated look, " _And_ , he's with Tonks. That's Nymphadora Tonks, by the way. They have a son. But Sirius and Tonks aren't together. They get on well, but Sirius is only interested in men."

Ah, so three parties in one relationship. Why does that sound familiar?

"Right, so don't freak out if I see hugs and kisses exchanged between more than two people."

He nods, the majority of his focus on the plant in front of him. She makes no effort to keep the conversation going, so it lulls to a somewhat comfortable silence. Eventually, she slips back inside and goes to her brewing room, determined to mix up a batch of that blasted potion from two weeks ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: 22 dec.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a few days behind schedule-- family shit happened over the holidays

_{9 January 2002}_

Amalie could cry. She might, actually. She can feel the pressure behind her nose building up how it does before tears finally fall and you're forced to sniffle to keep your nose from dripping. It's a gross feeling, and she hates it. What she absolutely does not hate, though, is the sight of Fred and George huddled over her cauldron, whisper-shouting at each other.

"No, you idiot, rose petals and thorns, that's what she wrote!"

"Excuse me, little brother, when did you learn to read French? That's all she writes in."

She lets out a breathy little laugh, sniffling, and setting her bag down. "I hope you didn't miss me too terribly much."

They jump at the sudden voice, looking at her with wide eyes. George scrambles for her, arms wrapping around her waist so he can lift her up and hug her tight. She laughs again, wrapping her own arms around his shoulders and hiding in the crook of his neck. He only sets her down to grab her face, kissing her deeply.

Once he's left her breathless and warm, she looks at Fred, finding him stuck in place.

"You wore that in today?" He nods to the sweater covering her top half, studying the way it hands off her much smaller frame.

She looks down, easily letting the sleeves fall well past her hands. "I did, is that alright? I've got a shirt on under for when I brew-"

"You walked into our shop wearing my sweater?" Fred asks again.

"Er... yes? Though to be fair, I did say you weren't getting it back. It's mine now." She plays with the hem, watching him. Next to her, George is laughing and watching the whole thing, arms crossed and a hand covering his mouth.

Fred moves to her, taking in her dark blue jeans and old Converse, the high braid she managed, and his sweater. Slowly, he lifts her chin, leaning down to kiss her gently. It doesn't stay gentle, though. In a matter of seconds, the kiss is biting and intense. She whines into it, hands falling against his chest. When he pulls away, he thumbs at the collar of the sweater.

"I like it," he states, voice a bit rougher than it was a moment ago. "I really like the idea of people knowing you belong to us."

Something hot and sticky sweet bubbles inside her- "Do I?"

George slides behind her, hands slipping under the blasted sweater and her undershirt to thumb circles on her hips. "What do you mean?"

Fred has one hand at the base of her neck, the other still toying with the fabric. "Do I belong to you? Haven't properly asked me, you know..."

They both laugh. George leans down to mumble in her left ear, "Oh, silly little witch."

Fred's lips are against her right, "Of course you belong to us."

"No matter where-"

"-No matter when-"

"-Every minute-"

"-Of every day."

"You belong to us." They finish together, each taking this opportunity to kiss her neck.

If she thought having one twin kiss her was a lot, having them both on her at the same time was a whole new playing field. She didn't know what to do with herself, arching so her chest could press against Fred while dropping her head back against George's shoulder. Much too soon, they're pulling away and leaving her in stunned silence.

Fred is grinning and for once, he is the cat that caught the canary. George slips a hand to her front, splaying it against her lower stomach. "So, how was your vacation?"

Amalie groans. "I don't want to talk about it." She looks back at the door, slipping her wand from her sleeve and mumbling, "Colloportus."

With a fire in her eyes, she raises a brow in a silent challenge and sinks to her knees. George and Fred share a look, once again having a silent discussion. Fred wins- George probably let him, if memory serves correct- and works to undo his belt.

Roughly an hour later, she's sitting in George's lap with her legs draped over Fred's. Her eyes are rimmed red and her lips are swollen, but both of her boys are sated and happy so it's worth it. George has wrapped the end of her braid around his hand and is using it to pull her head back, kissing at her neck, when Fred asks again.

"How was your break, darling?" His fingers are wrapped around her ankle, rubbing gently at the soft skin.

"It was... nice, at first," she starts, tugging at the hair at the base of George's neck to pull him away. "Christmas and New Year's were fun; spent most of our time talking about politics and future careers. We don't do gifts, so. You know. A nice meal and watching snowfall is only so exciting."

Fred nods, taking it upon himself to cuff the bottom of her trousers, giving him more access to her pale ankles. "And the following week?"

This is where Amalie groans. She doesn't really want to discuss it, but... these are her boys. She owes it to them, to be honest, doesn't she?

After a solid minute of wishing she was an Animagus so she could turn into a snake and slither away from this conversation, she shifts in George's lap. "Honestly? The rest of it was awful. The anniversary of my mum's passing was on the sixth, and... I kind of tore into my father about it. After she died, he locked all of her things away. I can't remember my own mother; her hair, her eyes, her... her laugh... I have nothing."

Fred and George share a look, but Amalie doesn't have it in her to try and figure out what they're silently discussing.

"I just- I properly shouted at him. When I was done I just left. Managed to make it across the manor, found Draco, and promptly sobbed so hard he had to remind me to breathe. He took it like a champ, though, let me snot all over his favorite blazer." She chuckles, rubbing her temples. A small sigh escapes her lips as George rubs at the back of her neck, working out some tension. "He's not speaking to me. Dad, not Draco. And yesterday! Oh, gods! I looked a mess and who turns up at my door? Neville Longbottom. I was not expecting that. What's with him? Last I heard he was this awkward little thing stumbling about the castle and then he turns up looking _like that_ , and he's got a way of making people talk." Amalie takes a deep breath, looking at Fred.

"That's... quite a bit, isn't it?" He chuckles, squeezing her calf.

"Is it? Hadn't noticed. I'm invited to tea tomorrow with him and Luna. Also, do either of you- oh, that's silly, you two almost always go together- know Sirius Black or Remus Lupin? Longbottom says they might have known my mum. I did not intend on saying anything about my life to him- he's got that... face, you know? Frustrating to no end, but I ended up telling him all my things."

They chuckle and share another look, nodding. George tells her that they do in fact know both men, that Harry comes in often with Sirius in tow, and that on Hogsmeade weekends Remus brings Teddy in. Even Tonks visits occasionally. Amalie smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek, sitting moving forward and pecking Fred's lips.

George makes an affronted sound, pulling her back, "Excuse me? He gets a proper kiss and I don't? This is discriminatory!"

"Well, I am the elder, and therefore, superior twin, Georgie." Amalie can't help the laughs that escape her, watching George mock offense and Fred looking smug about it.

Sneakily, George dances his hands against her ribs, and even through the thick sweater, she squeals when it tickles. Amalie smacks at his chest and wiggles until he secures her with an arm around her waist, lips pressing to her neck.

"Ah ah, little witch. Now, you did us a lovely service; don't you think it's time Freddie got a taste of you?"

_{19 January 2002}_

Amalie makes the twins promise to tell her as soon as they find out when the next Hogsmeade Weekend is, saying that even if she has Saturdays off, she's going to be in the store. They've made her promise, in turn, to keep her "cute little bum out of the brew room", or else she'd suffer the consequences. The Thursday before, Fred pops his head in and tells her they've just heard from Ron, who heard from Harry, who heard from Sirius, who spoke to Tonks, who pinned down Remus and got him to say yes to being a chaperone for the upcoming weekend trip.

She's been pacing in her make-shift lab since she got in to work, barely standing still long enough to kiss her boyfriends (isn't that a strange concept!) hello. Her mind is working harder than her legs, trying to make an itemized list of questions. Was her mother a happy person? Did she really love Severus? If James Potter was as much of a smarmy little shit as Snape says he was, why was Danica friends with his friends? Were they friends? Enemies?

George has been watching her for the past few minutes- her brain is too busy to count right now- sitting behind the counter and looking through the open door. Part of it makes her heart melt, really. Things have been... good. Really good, actually, with him and Fred. Not that she had many to begin with, but her worries were quickly forgotten after they made things official. They truly did know how to share everything; they've taken to going in shifts during the workday, one spending half the day behind the counter and able to keep her company while the other is out mingling with customers, then switching after lunch. After they closed up the shop, she generally went up to theirs for dinner and to decompress. Although they're yet to have sex for a second time, things did tend to get heated. She'd had more love bites in the last couple weeks than she had in all her years at Beaubatons, and she had been quite the little minx back then. Truth be told, she still very much was one.

When she turns to continue pacing, George is gone. She stops where she is, blinking for a moment, then going to the door and peeking out. What she's met with is simultaneously the cutest and most terrifying thing she's ever seen. Fred has a little boy on his hip, hair a mess of bright purple curls and cheeks blotchy red from... whatever it is that children do. It warms her heart: some weird, hidden, instinctual and maternal feeling making itself known- it's gross, Amalie decides. It is icky and she will think about it more later. For now, she chalks it up to her monthly being a few days off. On the other hand, the terrifying part: this toddler is most likely Teddy Lupin, which means Remus Lupin has brought him, which means she'll be having the conversation she's been both dreading and counting down to.

After a lot of back-and-forth on Amalie's part, the twins spend five minutes each trying to convince her to actually speak to the man and Remus himself assures her that he only bites on a full moon, they make their way up to the twins' apartment. Fred sends her off with a kiss on the cheek, not going with because he's watching Teddy, and George goes with them to put a kettle on. He only leaves after cupping her face and staring for a solid ten seconds.

When Amalie and Remus are alone, she finally looks at him. Well, here goes nothing.

"They care for you a great deal. It's quite nice to see, really. Last I saw of them, they were pranking the entirety of the Slytherin fourth year. How long have you been with them?" Remus asks, hands in his pockets.

"Oh, um... officially? Just a couple of weeks. Been working with them since mid-October, though." He nods.

"Surprising, then. Some couples or groups can be together for years and still be awkward with each other." When she confirms, he adds on, "I wasn't given much detail as to why you wanted to speak to me, only that... Gods, who was it? Dora heard from Sirius, who I think heard from Harry-"

"I think you knew my mum," she states.

"Ah, alright then. What's her name?"

"Danica. I... I don't know her maiden." Amalie shifts, going to the kettle and pouring the tea. This is something she can do. Carefully, she places the two cups at the table, sitting in her favored chair.

Remus joins her, thinking on the name. "Danica... Dani... Wait, Dani? Danica Rook? Snape's witch?"

She nods, surprised by the nickname. To the best of her knowledge, she's never heard her father call her mother by a nickname.

"Merlin, after all this time... How is she? Been ages since I spoke to her."

Amalie runs cold. She feels something akin to dread drip down her spine, settling in the pit of her belly and threatening to make her sick.

"You... you don't know?" He blinks at her, stirring his tea. "She's dead. Seventeen years."

Remus nearly knocks his mug over, mouth falling open. "What? Seventeen- How- how did she pass?"

The young witch opens her mouth to answer, but comes up empty-handed. She has no idea. How did her mother die? She knew it was the sixth of January, and she was five at the time. In fact, the only reason she knows she was five was because of the date on the gravestone. 1985, she was born in 1979, her parents were 19 when she was born... beyond that, Amalie doesn't remember. She can perfectly recall the funeral, with a closed casket and grey snow, white roses, her father tugging her up to drop a handful of dirt into the grave, but she has no clue what killed her mother.

"I... don't know."


	10. Chapter 10

_{20 January 2002}_

Amalie knocks against the dark wood door of 12 Grimmauld Place, arms instantly going around her stomach to keep her warm. She chews at her bottom lip, waiting for someone to answer so she can stop almost-falling on the porch. The sun isn't even up yet, but she can't say she's gotten a head start, because she never actually went to sleep. Slowly, the door creaks open and Amalie really, _really_ regrets coming. Ron is staring back at her, looking like she's got one too many heads.

"Why are you- Are you okay? Don't get sick on the porch." He huffs, glaring at her. The door is only open enough for her to see just over his bare shoulder to a staircase.

"I need Hermione, please." Her voice cracks at the end and she sniffles, looking anywhere but at him.

Ron stares for a solid thirty seconds before grunting quietly and pushing the door open more. She steps inside and follows him to a sitting room, where he turns and instructs her to sit. He leaves her to get Hermione, and Amalie looks around. Remus told her how to get here, that Harry and his friends lived here with Sirius (when he was here, because apparently, he travels for business, though what _kind_ of business has never been stated).

Amalie doesn't have the balance to stand but doesn't have the stomach to sit, so she walks. Laps of the room, inspecting every picture, every nick-nack, the even stones of the wall, an ornate tapestry above a fireplace. What she determines is that Harry Potter was a fat little baby, an even fatter little toddler, and downright precious. The scar- you know, _that scar_ \- is featured in many pictures, a testament to the day his parents perished in the fight against Voldemort and the day a baby became a hero. By some miracle, the prophecies were wrong; Voldemort did not rise again, to everyone's relief, and stayed dead.

She's halfway through her fourth lap when she hears shuffling feet coming down the stairs, so she abandons an old Black Family photo to place herself on the loveseat. Hermione comes around the corner looking awake and ready for the day, unlike Ron, who is still in his pajamas. Thankfully, though, he'd put a shirt on. Amalie is still wearing her clothes from yesterday, having not slept, and she knows she looks a mess.

"Oh, God, Amalie, what's happened?" Hermione is clearly worried, going right to her friend and sitting with her. Amalie glances at Ron, then back to Hermione. The curly-haired woman turns to her boyfriend and gives him a pointed look, making him leave. Hermione watches him and listens as he goes back up the stairs, finally taking a breath when she hears a door close. "Okay, Harry'll be asleep for hours. Ron was only up because I was getting dressed. What's going on?"

Amalie takes a deep breath, fans herself, and gets into it. "I spoke with Lupin yesterday- the adult, not the... little one. That one frightens me. He saw me with the twins- because you know we've made things official now, yes?- and assumed I wanted to discuss polyamory. Long story short, I suppose, we came to two conclusions: I don't know how my mother died, and Remus never heard of her passing, which is odd, because apparently, they were good friends."

Hermione is quiet for a moment, processing what Amalie has told her. "Alright. Okay, we can go to the Ministry- they keep death records, don't they? Surely they'll let a woman's daughter have access to her death records."

The dark-haired witch considers it for a moment, sighing deeply and rubbing her face. "There's more."

"Oh, Merlin... Before you say it, you need coffee. No offense, you look, as Ron would put it, a bit shit."

They move into the kitchen and Hermione drills her for details about the twins, forcing a few good, heartfelt laughs out of Amalie as a dark roast brews. In turn, Hermione tells her that she and Ron have been discussing marriage, and how convinced she is that he'll pop the question any day now.

"When it happens, you're the first person I'm owling. You'll be in the wedding, of course, though you might have to walk with Harry, since he'll be the Best Man-"

"Wait, shouldn't the Witch of Honor walk with Har-" She'll blame the lack of sleep for her slow pick-up time. "Oh! Hermione! You can't be serious? Are you? Me?"

The soon-to-be bride laughs loudly, sliding a mug to her friend. "Of course I'm serious. After the Yule Ball, all the letters we sent back and forth... Amalie, you've been my closest girl friend for ages. Yes, I love Ginny, but she's Ron's sister, and Luna is lovely, but when it comes to who I want helping me plan? It's you. I know all too well how determined you can be to get something done." There's a glint in her eye that says she's referring to more than her studious ways.

Amalie squints at her from over the edge of her mug, a single eyebrow raised. "Miss Granger, are you referring to our snog in the Prefect's Bathroom?"

"I might be. It was quite impressive, don't you think?"

"Hmm, I do. If I recall correctly, you swore off men for the rest of your life after that. Now here we are ready to plan your wedding. Times do change, don't they?" Amalie sighs wistfully, feeling better with a warm drink in her hands.

The women go through a whole pot of coffee and a box of store-bought apple turnovers, talking about their past and how they ended up where they are now. Hermione swears up and down that the only reason _she_ got all O's on her N.E.W.T.'s is because of Amalie's studying tips and tricks, whereas Amalie assures her that the only reason she got all O's was Hermione's entertaining letters on the trouble Harry and Ron got up to. Briefly, they touch on the fact that Amalie and Ron decidedly cannot stand each other, but Hermione relents on trying to make them get along when the former promises to play nice for her sake. How bad could he be if he was related to George and Fred?

Eventually, when the lack of sleep is catching up to her, she leans forward to rest her chin in her hands.

"'Mione?"

"Hmm?"

Amalie takes a breath, studying the marble countertop. "I think someone did something to my past. I don't know if it was a memory charm, a false memory, a potion... I just know that something isn't right. I can't think of any reason to tamper with my childhood memories other than... "

"You think it has to do with your mum?"

"It has to. I just... need help figuring out who would do it."

Hermione moves around the island and pulls Amalie into a tight embrace, chin hooking over her shoulder. "I love you to bits, alright? This isn't going to be easy, Amalie. You... you might want to prepare yourself. There's a chance..." It's clear she doesn't want to say what she's thinking.

She doesn't have to. Amalie knows there's a good possibility her own father is behind her memory problems. She just wants to know what could be so bad that a father would tamper with the mind of his five-year-old daughter.

Amalie wakes much later that afternoon to the bed dipping under someone's weight, followed by a warm hand on her back. She whines into her pillow, pulling her legs to her chest and trying to go back to sleep. On her other side, the bed dips again, and another hand is brushing hair out of her face. Slowly, as she blinks her eyes open, her gaze settles on Fred, and as she moves to lay on her back, the spare hand lays flat against her bare stomach. George chuckles at the state of her, hair wild around her head and a little pout on her lips.

Keeping his voice quiet, he teases, "Imagine our surprise when we come to visit our baby brother-"

"-only for his witch to tell us _our_ witch is asleep upstairs after working herself half to death," Fred finishes.

Amalie tries to pull the duvet up over her head, not wanting to be fussed at. Neither of them let her get away with it. They each chastise her in their own way, with George gently gripping her jaw and telling her she needs to take care of herself and Fred laying next to her, hands dancing across her sides as he tickles her.

Once Fred relents, Amalie is breathless and smiling. "You're both bloody evil, you know that? Worst people I've ever met. Do you think they'd be terribly upset if we shagged in their spare room?"

Both men laugh at her sudden change, shaking their heads. George tugs the duvet away and raises a brow at her choice in pajamas. They're soft pink, obviously old, and very much Not Hers. She informs them that 'Mione let her borrow them, and that she set some clothes out for her to wear when she woke up. The shirt is ridden up to expose her pale stomach, but drops down when she sits up, and the small shorts do nothing to hide her legs. She moves to sit on her knees, scrubbing at her eyes and running her hands through her hair to try and tame it. After stretching her arms above her head, she moves to straddle Fred.

He makes a surprised sound and places his hands on her bare thighs, raising a brow. She gives a wicked grin, walking her fingers up his chest. "Did you think I was kidding about the sex?"

George snorts out a little laugh, leaning over and grabbing Amalie by her neck to pull her in for a kiss. She whines when he pulls away, making him kiss her head. "They'll get suspicious if we're all up here for over an hour. I'll go keep them occupied, no? You can pay me back later."

"Mmm... Yes, sir."

George stops in his tracks, having gotten halfway across the room, and looks at her. "Sir?" He takes a moment to consider it, smirking. "We're definitely saving that one for later."

She barely has time to salute before Fred is flipping her over, pawing at her shirt. George leaves them with a laugh and an eye roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: 1 jan


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new perspective on some things

_{20 January 2002, Continued}_

_《George》_

When George joins Ron and his friends, Hermione meets his eye and gives a questioning look. He presses his tongue to his cheek and points upstairs, chuckling when she smirks and wiggles her eyebrows.

"Oi, so like... why her?" Ron asks, huffing in offense when Hermione smacks his shoulder. "It's an honest question! She's- well, she's... _her_."

He frowns, leaning back on the couch and glaring at his younger brother. "Why Hermione? No offense, Granger."

"None taken."

"That's different! Hermione isn't- she's- oh, hell..."

"Because she's Snape's daughter?" Harry offers, shrugging slightly when all three people look at him. "It's a bit weird, isn't it? I mean, she's lovely, but sometimes she says or does something so... Snapey."

George shrugs, thinking about it for a minute. "Dunno, really. It's easy to not think about it when she's got her mouth on-"

"No! I'll puke, do _not_ finish that sentence!" Ron nearly shouts, making them all laugh.

They all joke and talk, George going into detail about their boost in sales since Amalie became the one to brew their potions, how Valentine's sales were going, and some new products they're testing out. Harry talks about last week's letter from Sirius, who is currently in France doing Merlin-knows-what, but he's having a good time, so that's what counts. Ron drones on about his and Harry's Auror training, saying that they've just taken their final exam and will be getting the results any day now, and then they'll be official. After nearly an hour, Fred can be heard coming down the stairs. Soft laughs follow his voice, and when he rounds the corner, he's carrying Amalie bridal style.

Both of them look mussed up, and George is positive he spots at least three dark bruises on Fred's collar as he drops Amalie into his lap.

"I'm going for food, she's your problem for now." Fred throws his hands up, walking backward in the direction of the kitchen.

Amalie huffs, shifting in George's lap, "I'm a national treasure, you heathen! Oh, hello, Harry, did I kick you? I'm sorry."

Harry smiles at her from the other side of the couch he and George share, shaking his head. "You're alright."

"So did you two have _fun_?" Hermione is on the edge of her seat, a grin on her lips.

George doesn't pay attention to Amalie's response, choosing to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. He buries his nose in her hair, smiling to himself at the scent of rose and honeysuckle. She's been spending a lot of time in their apartment- in their beds- and she's starting to smell like home. No one should blame him, with the way she matches not only him but Fred as well? To be able to share the most important thing was something they never really thought would happen.

When they were younger, in fifth year, George caught his girlfriend kissing Fred. She apologized profusely, said she just wanted to know what it was like; if they were truly identical or not (they aren't). Fred apologized to him as well, but George didn't let him finish before he was suggesting that they could, at some point, share a witch. At the time, he didn't think he meant romantically because who on earth could share their girlfriend? But by sixth year, they sat down over summer break and decided they were tired of having to exclude one another because of romantic pursuits. Fast forward to Fred doing a terrible job of trying to come out, in which George laughed and shook his head, shutting his twin up. He knew. Of course he knew his twin liked wizards just as much as he liked witches. He didn't care. He did, however, leave those experiences for Fred to have on his own.

Now, with Amalie in his lap, he knows they made the right choice years ago. He wouldn't have this any other way, can't even fathom not being with her, not sharing her with his twin. Speaking of Fred, he's back and handing Amalie a plate of food. He settles between George and Harry with his own plate, looking at George. The younger is nudged to look at the elder, prompting a silent conversation.

_Alright?_ Fred asks him, mouth full of peanut butter toast.

_Just happy to have her. Ron doesn't like her, though._

_When did we start caring about Ron's opinions?_ Fred makes a face, glancing at their little brother. The face gets more dramatic when Fred looks back at him.

George can't help the little laugh that leaves him, eyes widening when Amalie turns her head to look at him.

"What?" she asks quietly, not interrupting the heated discussion between Ron and Harry.

"Nothing, petal. Y'feeling better?" He kisses her head, dusting some crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

She nods, wiggling until Fred allows her to put her toes under his leg. "M'good. Starving, though." Pausing to take a bite, she studies him. When the toast is gone, she leans in and kisses his nose. "Do you wanna go on a date?"

A date? He hasn't been on one of those since early seventh year... He glances at Fred who's paying attention to Harry's side of a debate on... trolls? No help from him then.

"Oi, Georgie Boy, it's a date, not a death sentence. We don't have to, though."

"It'd look silly, don't you think? All three of us-"

"What? No, I mean you and me. Alone. Or can you not handle me by yourself?" She grins and he wants to bite her.

He goes everywhere with Fred. Last time he didn't, he nearly broke his wand and stepped in a mess left by a crup. Besides, was there a George without Fred leading the way? Then again, Amalie will be there, so things couldn't be all bad.

"Alright, yeah, a date. Just us. I think I can manage that."

_{29 January 2002}_

_《Draco》_

One of these days, Draco will get back at Amalie for putting the idea of Potter in his head. It was a passing comment at the time, but he'd gone stark red and she still hasn't let up on the joke. Potter is a smug little shit, and Draco wants no part of him. Except for, maybe, certain parts... on him... in him...

_No._ He is at work, he will not think about Potter at all.

Until, of course, he has no choice.

He works for St. Mungo's technically, but given his father's history and his natural talent for being an insufferable prick, they wanted to keep him in check, so he has an office at the Ministry. It's three rooms, really; his private office, a sitting room, and an infirmary in the back. The only time he deals with people is when someone at the Ministry needs medical attention. The requirements for his job were easy, he could've passed those N.E.W.T.'s in his sleep, and he did like being able to help people in his own way.

However, he did _not_ like when that person was Potter.

"Malfoy."

"Potter." Draco is not happy. Well, a teensy bit. Potter does look like hell, though. "What happened to you? You look like a Devil's Snare made you its bitch."

Potter has the audacity to blush. He scratches the back of his neck and Draco can count a dozen spots where his tanned skin is scratched red and raw.

"I, er... There was a report of someone housing some exotic pets. They didn't much like me."

Draco has to stop himself from laughing, schooling his expression, and jotting down what Potter said. He moves to a cabinet, pulling out a couple salves and humming. "I'll be right back, there's a potion to prevent any... diseases."

Potter simply hums in response, swinging his feet as he sits on one of the beds. Draco takes a moment in his office to breathe. He's not overly fond of what comes next, but it's his job, so fuck it, right? With a huff, he unlocks the cabinet and gets the potion he needs, going back to where Potter is still sitting on a bed.

"I'll need your shirt off."

"Could buy me dinner first."

Draco nearly drops the damn vial in his hand. "For- so I can tend to your bloody wounds, Potter. Not gonna shag you in my place of work."

Potter gets a funny look on his face that a treacherous part of Draco's brain wants to kiss away.

"So shagging in a closet at _my_ place of work is fine, but not at yours? Same building, you know. Different floor is all."

Fuck it all. Draco gets to work undoing buttons on Potter's shirt since he refuses to do it himself, knowing his face is beet red. He pushes it off of his shoulders, assessing the damage. The first salve will sting, and he's going to enjoy making him squirm. He gets halfway through before the jar is taken from him.

"You can't ignore me when you're tending to me, you know? Terrible bedside manner."

Draco tries to get the jar back, resorting to a childish stomp of his foot when Potter won't let him have it. He nearly gets it by leaning over to reach around the smug patient, but all thoughts about his job and the damn jar flee his mind when Harry grabs his face and pulls him into a kiss.

It takes the Malfoy a solid five seconds to respond, giving in and putting a knee between Harry's legs for leverage as he takes control of the situation. Harry's hands fall to his hips, allowing Draco to run his hands through his hair and _pull_. The darker-skinned man moans much too loud for a place of business and Draco pulls away, already glaring.

"You can't just kiss me whenever you don't like how I'm acting."

"I can, and I will. That salve stings. I made you kiss it better. I think it's a fair trade." Harry's too smug for his own good.

Draco sighs softly, picking up the jar and continuing with his work. The spots he's already treated look better, but he still has a ways to go before the skin is unmarred. He can taste Potter on his lips, warm with a hint of cinnamon and fucking delicious. It drives him mad.

"Have you told Amalie yet?" Harry asks quietly, letting Draco work and following his short orders.

"Have you told Ron?" he snaps back but immediately regrets it. "I'm sorry, that was... uncalled for. I haven't, she... has a lot going on right now. Doesn't need my drama added to it."

Harry laughs softly, catching Draco's wrist and pressing a light kiss to the thin skin. "You know she keeps pitching you to me? Like you're the newest broom or something. She was over for dinner a few days ago. Fred dragged her away from drilling me about my type."

Draco has to smile at that because _of course she does_. That's his Ama.

_{1 February 2002}_

_《Severus》_

The past month has been one of the worst he's had in the past fifteen years. It turns out his daughter is more like her mother than he could have imagined. The way she shouted at him after their visit to the cemetery was a vivid reminder that the Rook women were not to be taken lightly. Part of it made him unbelievably happy to see something so Danica coming from Amalie, but another part made him... sad. Though, when he thinks about it, he's been sad for most of his life, so why should this be any different?

In truth, this was his own fault. He encouraged his daughter to pursue this side of herself, so now he must suffer the consequences. The only thing he hadn't really counted on was her verging on discovering what he'd done. It wasn't optional at the time; he'd lost his wife, he refused to lose his daughter, too. He knew he wasn't father of the year by any means, but he kept her safe and happy as best as he could.

Didn't he?

Merlin, Danica would have been so much better at this. A girl needs her mother. What has he really done? Sent her off to a different country because after the incident, it was too difficult to see her roaming the halls of the damn castle.

"Severus?" A familiar voice calls from across the room.

"Yes?" He blinks away his thoughts, lifting his head and sighing.

"Amalie still has not reached out?" Minerva asks, closing the door behind her and sitting across from Severus.

"She has not. I fear... she may be close to learning the truth. She met with Professor Lupin recently, which means she has questions about Danica." Minerva doesn't respond, so he looks up to see why. She's got her hands on her hips and he knows he's about to be fussed at. "Miner-"

"Aye, don't 'Minerva' me, lad! Your daughter is brilliant and strong and it's high time you told her the truth about herself. You owe it to the lass. I'll not have my Goddaughter be strugglin' in a time of need. Either you Owl her, or I will."

Severus opens his mouth to argue, but a pointed look from the older woman silences him. He rolls his eyes and picks his quill back up, returning to his grading. Once the door shuts behind McGonagall, he mocks her accent and sets about writing to his daughter.

This will be the hardest thing he's had to do since deciding to be a double agent for the Order. Merlin, what did he get himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating every sunday now, lovies xx


	12. Chapter 12

_{1 February 2002}_

Amalie manages to corner Fred on Friday, just after lunch. It isn't difficult, really, she's almost positive he'd let her do more than just corner him any given moment. Days prior, in a spare room of 12 Grimmauld Place, he _did_ let her do whatever she pleased, right up until he couldn't take her teasing anymore and pinned her face down on the bed. He growled in her ear, called her a few specific things, and promptly showed her just how much _he_ could do to _her_. She loved it. If she thinks about it hard enough, her bum still stings from where he'd spanked her.

But alas, she doesn't have time to think about it. She's mere inches from him, head tipped back so she can look him in the eye.

"I'm taking George for the evening. I've arranged for Dray to come brew-"

"'Dray'? As in, Draco Malfoy? Will be in my shop? With all the ingredients-"

"Oi, he's been given strict instructions to not poison you. I need the matching set or things go off-balance, you know. Besides, it's his day off and he owes me." She smooths her hands over the lapel of his jacket, fixes his tie, and smiles at him.

Any apprehension in his eyes is gone. "You walk into our little shop, pin me down, declare your plans, and expect me to give you what you want?"

A wicked grin graces her lips, just like the first time she ever stepped foot in this building. She stands on her toes, pulls him down the rest of the way by his tie, and ghosts her lips over his.

"That's exactly what I expect, yes."

It takes Fred all of three seconds to cave. He grabs her hips and kisses her deeply, resting his head against hers when they need air. "Anything you want, need, desire... it's yours."

There's more weight to it than just approval for kidnapping his brother for an evening. She smiles slightly, kissing the corner of his mouth and stepping back. "Should probably fix yourself up. Looks like you've just been snogged by a pretty witch." One finger swipes under her bottom lip as she winks at him, walking away and leaving him to sort his tie and trousers.

Amalie waits until Draco steps into the shop before setting her plan into action. She's laid out all her notes, all the things he'll need, and left a box of his favorite sweets so that when she cinches the magenta apron around his waist, he can't complain too much. He pushes her out the door, grumbling explicits in French, obviously mocking her journals.

George is easy enough to find, the six-foot-three ginger with the shoulders of a Beater. For a split second, Amalie is truly impressed that she can tell her boys apart even when they're turned away from her. She finds the younger twin and slips her arm into his, waiting for him to finish speaking before stealing his attention.

"Right, I love this suit, but you're overdressed for where we're going. Come up, I've always wanted to strip you down just so I can dress you back up." She doesn't give him time to argue, tugging him along and up the steps.

In his bedroom, she sets about undressing him, skillfully ignoring his questions about her plans. Once he's dressed again, she gives him a long, hard look and slips her hands under his shirt, lightly dragging her manicured nails across his stomach.

"Later, when we get home, remind me to steal this shirt after I rip it off of you." She can feel his muscles jump and the breath hitting her cheek gets that much rougher. "But for now, we're going on the cutest bloody date you've ever been on."

"As excited as I am, love, what about the shop?" He asks, gripping both of her wrists in one hand.

"Nonsense, Fred is perfectly capable-"

"He set himself on fire last week. He is not perfectly capable of anything."

She snorts and rests her head on his chest, "-of staying alive whilst Draco tends to the needs of the shop."

"Malfoy is in my shop? Doing things?"

"Oh, what is it with you lot not trusting him? He's my best friend. I trust him, he won't do any harm to your shop. If he does, I'll turn him into a ferret and we can keep him as a pet."

George seems happy with that possibility and watches in amusement as Amalie walks around his room as if she owns it, bundling his coat and a scarf. She picks up his only gloves and stares at them for a minute, shaking her head and putting them down.

"Let me see your hands?" He holds them up and she compares hers to his, then kisses his palm. "I can nick a pair that'll keep you warmer than those."

"Nick them?"

"Yeah, from Uncle Lu."

"Uncle Loo?"

Amalie pauses and turns to him with a raised brow. "My Uncle Lucius. Draco's father? Husband to my Auntie Enna?"

Even George's freckles go pale. "You're going to steal a pair of gloves from Lucius Malfoy?"

She shrugs and goes over a list in her head, taking his hand. "Of course I am. We just need to pop to the manor so I can change, then we'll-"

"You're taking me to Malfoy Manor?"

Amalie stops and studies him for a minute, thumbing across his cheek. "Hey, it'll be alright, I promise. I've been staying there when I'm not here because I don't like being at Spinner's End. The place is huge, and they aren't even home. In and out, unless you want a tour of my room..." She wiggles her eyebrows for just a second, dropping her hand to his. "I won't let anything happen. The Malfoy's know better than to cross a Snape."

George takes a breath, nodding slightly. "Your name isn't Snape, though? Is Prince your mum's maiden?"

Amalie frowns slightly, shrugging again. "No, her's was Rook, apparently. Remus told me. My dad's a half-blood, his father was a muggle. He was a complete dick. Dad popped champagne when we got the news he died. He wanted a better life for me, he didn't want his reputation to cause issues. His mum was from the Prince family, you know, purebloods. When they announced my birth... ah, it's fuzzy, but I think they told people they wanted a pure name to protect me. Dad was still... you know. Being a spy. Needed to keep up appearances. Mum was a half-blood as well, so they were on thin ice."

George takes in what she said, nodding slowly. "Makes sense, then, I suppose. Right. Malfoy Manor. Me. How do we get there?"

Fifteen minutes later, Amalie is tugging him through the halls, listening to his mumbling about the decor. She finally gets to her room, gently pushing him inside and laughing as she closes the door.

"Are you that surprised that their home looks like a Gothic rebirth?" she asks, working at the buttons of her blouse.

"Not at all, I'm surprised it actually looks like a home. I didn't know they sat on couches. S'wicked, innit?"

As she goes to her closet, she laughs softly. "When Draco and I were little, Uncle Lu would fall asleep on the couch after Sunday Supper. We would take turns stacking things on him or waking him up. We _always_ got yelled at. It was the goal. Who could make Lucius yell the loudest, you know? Dad was always watching to make sure we didn't kill him. I think Auntie Enna encouraged us, really. She's the one who'd hand us things off high shelves to put on him."

George laughs softly, finally relaxing a bit and looking around. "Sounds too cute to be true-- Is this you and Draco?"

She hums a little response, allowing him to go on poking and snooping through her things. This is the first time he's been in a domain that was strictly hers, she can afford to let him play while she tugs a shirt and sweater on. For her plans, she couldn't risk frostbite. Once she's dressed, she finds him staring at the small collection of things she's nicked from their shop.

"That one was made by this bloke I fancy. Smart as a whip, funny as hell, handsome as all get-out... Checks all my boxes, really." She slides her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

George laughs softly, thumbing at the creased edge of the box. _George's Compendium Box of Pyrotechtrix._ Good, he should always be laughing, it's a brilliant sound. Gods, when did she become a sap?

The Manor truly is just a quick stop on their way to their final destination-- which she still refuses to name, much to George's (fake) annoyance. It becomes apparent, though, what her intentions are as they keep moving. Diagon Alley, Leaky Cauldron, some brick fondling, a broken down Muggle shop, Muggle London, and now she's grinning at him as she hails a taxi.

"Ever been to Hyde Park?" Amalie asks, taking George's hand to make sure he doesn't get lost.

"I have not... I've never intentionally come to Muggle-"

"London. Just London. Tonight, we're not wizards. We're a young couple- a _normal_ couple, out and about. No wands, no worries, no magic." She abandons her search for a taxi to face him, keeping his eye as she speaks softly.

Beyond them, the sun is preparing to set. Everything is cast in a golden glow, making George's hair look a bit like the fire that heats her cauldron. Every freckle is on display and she really, really needs to get him out in the sun more. Merlin, what will he look like come summer, when they get to spend time outside? Best start preparing her heart- and other body parts- for that sight now.

"Does that sound alright, love?" she asks, watching him curiously. George takes a slow breath and smiles, thumbing the highest part of her cheekbone.

"Your eyes are green." It's more of a revelation than a question. He's looking at her like he's never seen her before. Had they really never been in direct sunlight with one another?

"They are, yes." She nods, a small smile playing at her lips.

"S'beautiful. Does that mean your dad has green eyes?"

She rolls her eyes, laughing and grabbing his wrist. "Right, you sap. I assume he has green somewhere in there, I don't too often inspect how similar we are. The hair and nose is enough for me. Come on, we need to get a taxi."

It takes them all of four minutes to hail a taxi, and another ten to get where they're going. There's a crowd forming when George helps her out, and she immediately heads for the center of the damn thing. They work through a queue, and once inside, she's beaming at him.

It's... magical. In the most muggle way possible, it's magic. Lights and music, giant rides jutting into the sky, people everywhere, shouting and laughing and dancing. He loves every bit of it.

"So? Date approved?" She laughs, having to almost shout so he can hear her.

Instead of actually responding, he leans down and kisses her hard.

Nearly three hours later, their cheeks are tinged red, noses are numb, they're out of breath from laughing and running around so much, Amalie has a ridiculously large candy floss in her hands, and George is toting around the biggest stuffed bunny he's ever seen. It turns out that despite his boasting, he is quite shit at knocking down little plastic clowns with beanbags, but Amalie is very skilled at shooting a water gun into a cartoon fish's mouth, so she bestowed her prize to him. In return, he bought her more food than one average size witch should be able to eat, and they ate like kings. In an effort to thaw their faces and rest before making the trek back home, she pulls him into a soft-looking cafe and bookstore.

Amalie takes one last clump of candy floss before bidding it adieu, going up to the counter and taking the bunny from George. She informs a blonde barista she's going to leave it behind the counter and then turns to her date, ushering him in the direction of a loveseat.

"I come here all the time, Clara is a friend," she explains, pulling her legs to sit pressed into his side.

"Really? You come out to-" he catches himself just in time "London?"

"I do. Worked here for a summer, in fact. Wanted to know what it was like."

"My dad will love you."

The statement surprises her. She hasn't thought about what her future could look like, all too focused on finding out what was happening with her past for the time being. Meeting the Weasley's sounds... interesting, to say the least. For now, though, she just smiles up at him and presses a kiss to his shoulder, comfortable with the possibility of lasting long enough to find a permanent place in the twins' lives.


	13. Chapter 13

_{2 February 2002}_

A gentle knock at the door of her room in Malfoy Manor pulls her from a book. Dogging the page, she waves her hand toward the door, allowing Draco to enter.

“Amalie.” That is not Draco.

She sits up, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders as she squints at her uncle in the doorway. Lucius is not, nor has he ever been, one to strike a conversation for the fun of it. If he’s knocking at her door on a Saturday morning, something is happening. “Uncle. Is everything alright?”

He enters the room more, leaving the door open but pushing it closed halfway. Lucius looks like the textbook definition of uncomfortable. Gods, what is going on?

“May I?” Nodding slowly, Amalie smooths out the covers of her bed and allows him to sit. For lack of a better description, his face is pinched. A usually dashing face is wrinkled and pulled into an expression she only ever sees when she threatens to tell Draco about her trysts with the girls during school: nauseated and contemplating Avada’ing himself. Though he is her uncle, she recognizes that he is essentially what Draco will grow to be. It’s no secret that Draco is stunning, so why should it be surprising that his father has the same charm, if not a little weathered.

“Is Draco-” she starts, off-put by his silence.

“Draco is fine. I’m… here on Severus’ behalf.”

Ah. The cold shoulder is coming to an end, then?

“Uncle, let me stop you here. My father shouldn’t be recruiting you into his manipulation of me-”

“Severus is being a complete twat.”

“-and I can- Wait, what?”

Lucius looks like he wants to feed himself to the pale birds out in his front yard, but he continues. “The man is a brother to me, and you, a daughter I never had. We both know how Narcissa feels, and Draco adores you. You’re a beloved family member. Don’t get that look on your face; I am capable of expressing emotions, you know. I digress. I’m tired of his letters revolving around what’s plaguing you both. Here.”

A small piece of paper is set on the bed between them. Upon further inspection, it’s a down-turned photo.

“It’s the only one I could find. He had a fit and burned the rest, I believe. He _will_ come to his senses and own up to what he’s done. I know this for certain. It might take you kicking him in the rump, but he will. When… when the time comes, I’ll answer any questions you have. But you must settle things with your father first.”

Lucius leaves her with a hesitant kiss to her crown, clicking the door shut behind him. She can do nothing but stare at the photo. Carefully, she covers it with her hand. Tears well hot and heavy behind her eyes, her sinuses clogging in that pre-cry manner that she hates. After Merlin-knows-how-long, she takes a breath and turns the picture over.

First, she sees a tiny version of herself grinning back at her. Little Ama is sitting in a highchair, elbow-deep in a pile of mashed… something. Her hands are flying about, squishing and smacking the food, silently laughing and playing. Suddenly, someone slides into frame with a too-small spoon and a look of determination. The woman is breathtaking. Her hair is a mess, strawberry blonde hair pulled into a bun, clothes that are too big and stained with something (probably from the pile of mush Little Ama is attacking), and a glorious smile on her lips. Her mother. With bright green eyes. The sound of her laugh comes rushing back to her, hitting her with a force that knocks all the air from her body.

George's comment from their date plays through her mind. Her own eyes were a deep green, so dark they looked black, like her father's. Now, though, she knows her eyes match her mother's. Perhaps if she ever reaches the level of happiness that her mother exudes in this tiny picture, her eyes will glow as well.

Idly, she realizes that she never forgot what that laugh sounds like, time has simply blended her voice with her mother’s, syncing together in a twinning tune that makes Amalie want to cry. Be it from relief from not going mad, joy for having something that is so starkly her mother’s, anger at her father, or just pure, unfiltered emotion, she has no idea. Instead of trying to make sense of it, she holds the picture to her chest and falls back against her bed, allowing herself this moment.

Severus Snape will _not_ take her mother from her.

_{3 February 2002}_

One full day of having a photo of her mother and Amalie is still reeling. She’s constantly sneaking peeks at it, keeping it safe in the bodice of her gown, protected with a litany of charms so nothing bad can even begin to happen to it.

Which, if there should ever be a day for Amalie to incur bodily harm at work, it’s today. The twins have decided to move… everything. A new display for a new month, even if they’re already three days in. It made sense to at least one of them, so far be it from her to tell them how to run their shop. Or maybe she _should_ order them around, because this… is not going well.

George convinced their friends to help, meaning the store was closed for the day, and everyone is milling about trying to decide what to do. There’s a general plan, but if she hears Ron complain about his confusion _one more time_ , a very big and dangerous potion bottle is going to find a new home. Out of respect for Hermione, she’d rather that not happen.

“You look much happier since I last saw you,” Neville says, setting a box of boxes down beside her.

“I… I am happier, so. I suppose that fits, yes.” She leans back against the counter, eyes still on Ginny across the room. It was so strange, seeing a feminine Weasley. All the ones she’d met thus far- Charlie, Ron, and the Twins- were undeniably masculine. Broad-shouldered, could easily win in any sort of physical scrap, intimidating in the jock way, but Ginny… well, hell, she was still all of those things, but she was also stunningly petite and soft-looking.

If she was held at wandpoint and made to pick a Weasley other than the ones she already has, Ginny would easily be the name that falls from her lips.

“Oh? Are things better with your dad?”

Ah, happy time is over, then.

“No. He’s still a git. My… Merlin, I haven’t even told my boys yet. My uncle has given me something, which is a miracle in and of itself, really, but he also declared me the daughter he never had and essentially told me that should worse come to worst, he’s on my side.”

Neville makes a surprised noise, standing a half foot from her and copying her arms-crossed stance, watching the room. “That’s good then, right? Or are you worried about coming to blows with Snape?”

Well, shit. Leave it to Neville to make her worry about things she hasn’t even had time to consider yet.

Lucky for her, two tall gingers are headed right for her. Fred drops a kiss to her lips, veering to the left and making room for George, who steps one to the left and one back so they can each stand with her and Neville. What throws her for a loop, though, is a third kiss coming from someone her own height. She has no time to process because Luna is holding her face and watching her intently.

“Hmm, you have a soft mouth. Much better than boys,” the blonde sighs out, looking as if she’s in a dream state.

“Um… thank you?” Amalie asks, glancing at Neville but changing to her twins when Neville looks unsurprised. Fred has a delighted look on his face, and George still has his mouth open to say what he had on his mind before the impromptu kissing-train.

Back to Neville, he shrugs, “Don’t look at me, I’m not kissing you.”

Amalie makes an indignant noise and gently takes Luna’s hands from her face. “As long as all partners approve, Luna, you can test theories whenever you’d like, but warn me next time, alright? I’m much better when mentally prepared.”

“Oh, but the best kisses are unprepared. A genuine reaction is always a lovely way to see how someone feels about you, isn’t it?”

She's gone just as fast as she arrived, flitting over to play with a box of goodies that's yet to be set out on display. Amalie turns to her boys, then to Neville, looking for some concept of an understanding. Neville leaves them to follow after Luna, and Fred snorts out a laugh when they're out of ear-shot.

"Well, that just ignited about twelve fantasies…"

"Fred!" George and Amalie both smack his shoulders, rolling their eyes at his little admission.

Everyone settles back to work after that, with Fred telling people where to put things and George echoing his jokes and insults. Amalie, Hermione, and Luna take charge of relocating potions and setting up the displays around them, all three adopting some version of a hiss if any of the boys get too close. In a matter of hours, the shop is mostly put together again. The whole group is sitting around the brewing room, all tired and making small talk.

Until the front doors of the shop open with a bang. Almost everyone jumps, wands at the ready, not knowing what could be going on. Surprisingly, Harry is the first to go to the door. He opens it just in time for a breathless Draco to nearly fall through the frame, eyes wild.

"Ama-" He pulls himself from Harry’s grasp and goes to her, gripping her shoulders, glancing around at all the people in the room. He drops his voice, taking a deep breath and diving into his story, but his panic and terrible French make it difficult for Amalie to keep up. _"Snape is coming and he's furious. He was at the manor in a shouting match with my father, I couldn't hear it all but I know he's looking for you."_

Amalie blinks at him, nodding slowly. "Did he break anything at the Manor?"

At her questions, Fred, George, and Neville share a look and stand. Hermione is up as well, wand still ready and a fierce look in her eyes.

Draco nods, dropping his hands and flopping down on the loveseat. He looks truly frazzled, his hair looks as if he's been pulling at it all day and he's in his casual clothes. Amalie doesn't remember him leaving the house in casual clothes in years.

She takes a moment, thinking about the best way to go about this. It’s likely that her father is already on his way here, so trying to catch him at the Manor or Spinner’s End is a no-go. Any owl would be shooed away, and it wasn’t dire enough for her Patronus to be sent. So he’d have to arrive. She can bring him… where? The brewing room? He’s bound to break a good few things in here.

Suddenly, she moves to sit next to Draco, throwing up her shields and looking him in the eye. “Give it all you’ve got. I need to be ready.”

He startles at the tone of her voice, rubbing his forehead and sitting up to focus better. Draco takes a breath, grey eyes boring into her near-black, not blinking as he tries to pry into her mind. She keeps him out with little struggle, and a minute later he leans back into the couch. “Nothing but pygmy puffs.”

Draco, however, was nowhere near as skilled as her father. “It’ll have to do. George, take everyone up and keep them there? Or if you want to leave, you can.”

Neville is the first to respond, “Like hell, we’re staying here. We’re on your side, Amalie.”

If her shields weren’t up so high, she would tear up at it. He’s known her a month and he’s ready to go toe-to-toe with her father. With a small huff, she looks at everyone in the room; Draco and Hermione, two of her best friends ever; Ginny, Ron, and Harry, whom she wasn’t as close with but by gods, they were family; Neville and Luna, who were quickly becoming great friends; and Fred and George, the men she’s falling for. This is her family. They’ve given her more validation and happiness than her father ever had, even when they crafted a precariously balanced relationship based on their mutual disdain for the general public and quick wit.

George never gets the chance to take the lot of them up to the flat; once again, the front doors crash open and the familiar chilling drawl of her father’s voice crawls through the store.

“Amalie Rose Prince, face me this _instant_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd just like to state for the record that I did initially start this as a crack fic


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of extreme violence towards a child and just kinda graphic stuff, sorry

_{3 February 2002, Continued}_

_"Amalie Rose Prince, face me this instant!"_

The tone of her father’s voice only serves to make her even more mad. How dare he come to her place of work and cause such a scene? Does he have no respect for her? For the twins? For their livelihood? Is he truly so full of himself that he has to go to the Malfoy’s home and destroy things, only to drag his path of destruction to her friends’ home?

All analytics and methods of preparing are shot out the window as a wave of rage boils over her. In a flurry, she’s out the door and marching for one Severus Snape. He must not be expecting her to come at him in a fit of rage, because when she gets to him, he staggers back.

Before he can open his mouth, she’s hissing at him. “What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you? Have you no respect for Fred or George? Or do you believe yourself above them now? What of me? This is my work, my friends are here and deserve absolutely no part of your insolent wrath.”

His upper lip curls in his signature sneer, the distaste obvious on his face. “Mind your manners, little girl. I have no interest in being shouted at. You’re a grown woman, not a child.”

Amalie’s face twists into a look of pure rage; her normally calm and controlled wand is pulsing in her hand with the anger and magic dripping from her.

“A grown woman, hm? Then why do you restrict me like a toddler? I’ll act like a grown woman when you damn well treat me like one.”

“Nonsense. I’ve given you every opportunity to grow into the woman I know you can be. The fact that you remain insolent and intolerable is not my doing.” Despite the venom he spits, his voice remains calm and collected.

She falls into a pit of silence, chest heaving with the weight of his words. “Perhaps, then, it’s my lack of a mother. Tell me, Father, if I go to the ministry and look up her death records, what will the cause be? Did the Snape in you finally make an appearance?”

Her words seem to cut right through him. They stare at each other for a moment, each realizing that things will never truly be the same between them. Years of a precariously balanced peace between father and daughter is done and gone. Amalie may never again feel the security of her father’s hug.

This is not what she wanted. In the search for one parent, she’s lost the only one she ever really had. The words are out, though, and she has no chance of bringing them back.

“Your mother… was taken from us. Let me make this clear, Amalie: I never hurt her. I never raised a hand at her. I understand you must think the worst of me for keeping her from you, but did you ever consider that I was in too much pain to talk about her? She was the love of my life.” He stops when his voice cracks, frowning deeply.

All the fight and anger has melted into shame and disgust with herself, making her stomach roll. Softly, she sniffles.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I didn’t… I’m sorry.” She can’t say she didn’t mean it. In the moment, she did, and she hates herself for it. With a somewhat clear mind, she _knows_ her father would never raise a hand to her or her mother.

Snape wipes his face and takes a deep breath. Aging ten years in one argument is not a walk in the park. He studies her a minute, then makes a soft noise and pulls her in for a bone-crushing hug.

Her wand clatters to the floor as she throws her arms around his middle, hiding her face in his chest. She refuses to acknowledge the tears falling from her eyes, paying no mind when one hand leaves her shoulders to wipe at his own face.

The Snapes and Princes are _not_ public criers.

After Merlin knows how long, Amalie steps back and wipes her face free of any and all tears. Her voice is scratchy, but she works through it. “I know… I know this isn’t easy, but I need to know what happened, Daddy. I can’t just put this on a shelf, I have to know what happened.”

Before Snape can answer, someone clears their throat behind them. Amalie turns and spots Fred, hands wringing and looking uncomfortable as ever.

“Er, Draco and ‘Mione sent me… and Neville and Luna… and George… to check on you.” This may be the first time he’s ever actually been nervous in front of her.

Amalie laughs softly and glances up at her father before crossing the space and wrapping her arms around Fred’s shoulders. He gives a fierce hug back, nearly lifting her up. When he sets her down, he gently cups her face and frowns.

“You’ve been crying. Are you alright? You look alright, no missing limbs and no blood… Been worried sick up there for the past twenty minutes. Not even Luna knew what was going on.” His voice is barely a whisper, not particularly wanting Snape to hear his concerns.

She places her hands on his wrists, smiling. “I’m okay, Freddie, I promise. He- we’re… I think we’re getting to a breakthrough. Sorry to commandeer your shop, though. Is Draco alright?”

Fred stares at her, nodding. “He’s fine. Harry is paying special attention to him-”

“I knew it…” She forces a smile, glancing at the door. There will be time to interrogate Draco later. With a firm nod, she pulls his hands away and uses them as leverage to walk him backward a couple of steps. “Okay, go back, work George from the brink of a heart attack. Can’t have the pretty one giving out on me.”

He doesn’t make a sound of offense until he’s halfway back to the lab.

“When did that happen?” Snape sounds from where she left him.

“Officially? A few days after France.” Amalie turns and goes back to him, plucking her wand up and transfiguring a display case into an oversized couch for them to sit on.

“And you chose Fred? Interesting.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t? That was Fred, was it not? Even when terrified of me, he has that overconfident air about him-”

“That was Fred, yes. I didn’t pick him over George. I picked both.”

Snape stares at her for a good thirty seconds, blinking slowly. Finally, he nods and sighs softly. “We’ll discuss that later. For now, your past.” There’s a break in which he turns to face her, looking over her and smiling sadly. Any smile on Severus Snape is strange and seemingly malformed, but when laced with sadness it’s a whole other kind of off-putting. How does one prepare for the missing chunk of their childhood? Amalie can’t answer, but she knows it’s best done while curled up as small as possible. She brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin in the little gap between them.

“As you know, I was a double agent for the Order-”

“Wait, should Harry be hearing this? I feel like he should be hearing this.”

“Why on earth would you want that blasted little mongrel to hear this? We’re delving into the most painful moments of my life.”

“I- It might have something to do with his mum?”

“It does not.”

“Well, Draco should certainly hear it. I’d like if Fred and- Oh, just let me bring them down, I’m only going to tell them later.”

His head falls back and he mouths some words, sighing. “Fine. Go collect your miscreants. It’s apparently time for the most morbid storytelling ever.”

Five minutes later, Amalie and Draco are side-by-side on the couch, and everyone else is sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

“Does anyone need a potty break, or shall I begin?” Severus asks, voice dripping with ennui.

He’s met with ten stares in varying states of annoyance, fear, piqued interest, and in one Lovegood’s case, it’s as if she’s looking past his eyes and examining the unseen segments of his soul.

“As you all might know, I was a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix, in which I took the Dark Mark and reported back Voldemort’s goings-on. After all was said and done, it came out that I was not who I made myself out to be. His followers were angry. I saved myself from death and torture on more than one occasion. For three years, I evaded their anger. Unfortunately, this luck did not last. Danica and I decided to spend the holidays here, in England, instead of going and visiting her extended family in France.

“This is a mistake I will take to my grave. I was stubborn, I didn’t want to deal with the stress of traveling and…” he sighs deeply, then changes direction. “It was morning, and you, Amalie, were thrilled about how much snow we’d gotten during the night. You insisted we take you out to play, and your mother agreed. I was working on a new potion and didn’t have the time, so she took you out.”

Amalie suddenly sees herself at the age of five, bouncing in a little hallway and begging her mum to hurry. She grabs at her mother's gloved hands and tries with all her might to drag the woman to the door. Her mother laughs and scoops her up, kissing her nose. She grabs her mother’s face and tells her how vital it is that they go play, doing her best to imitate her father’s baritone voice.

A dull pain shoots through Amalie’s head at the memory. She winces, ducking her head and rubbing her temples. Vaguely, she knows what happens next. It makes her feel sick. Still, Severus presses on.

“An hour or so passed, I was waiting for my potion, and her Patronus came to the house. I still think about the terror in her voice, your screams in the background. The men who were after me had found you-”

“No, stop-” Amalie begs softly. Her hands are shaking, she can feel the pain of the curses they used.

“-and decided that you were a suitable exchange for me. From what I could discern, they favoured the Cruiciatus curse-”

Amalie throws herself from the couch, going for the trash bin by the front door. She barely makes it before she collapses in on herself, going between crying and reliving the shocks of pain. Hands are on her back and in her hair, holding it back so she doesn’t get sick in it, but she has no idea who’s touching her.

She can remember almost every bout of it. So much pain in such a sudden moment, coursing through her body like everything she’d ever had nightmares about. Her mother was screaming for her, telling her it would be okay, but how could it be okay? How could any of it be okay?

The vivid memory of her mother breaking free and launching herself at one of their attackers, only to be flung into the trunk of a tree, the sound of bones crunching in ways that no human should ever have to endure. Her mother died trying to protect her.

With the final memory of her father scooping her out of the wet snow- blood or melted from the heat of her thrashing body?- Amalie fades out of consciousness.


	15. update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not a real chapter and I'll def delete this later sorry guys :(

so my editor made some comments that made me decide to re-write what I had planned-- very nice comments! she was kind, it just made me rethink how I wanted this to go. but because of the _real_ chapter 15 being re-written, I'm having to go back and re-write the rest of it to fix it properly. 

on to the actual update: the real chapter fifteen will be up in about a week or two! and with it I plan on having the story finished. all in all I think this story is going to have around 20 chapters, but of course I'm going to do add-ons, individual blurbs for drarry and luna w neville and perhaps even the loop I threw myself in w sirius and remus and tonks ! 

in summation: story soon, I love every single one of you, and I love these characters way too much for me to just end it with the one story lmao

kisses to those who have kept up with this story xx

love, bug


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